re· com· mence | \ (ˌ)rē-kə-ˈmen(t)s
verb
: to undergo a new beginning

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xvi
spring
age twenty-two

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"I think I'm gonna throw up."

Sting picks at a stray thread in his white gloves, swallowing hard to keep the nausea at bay. Rogue takes them from him gently, tugging at the string until it breaks and then holding them out to slip them onto Sting's hands.

"You're not going to throw up," he reassures Sting. "You're going to be fine."

Sting chews his lip, staring down at where Rogue is now gripping his gloved hands. "I don't…" He sighs.

"Don't what?"

"Feel like I… fit," Sting admits quietly, looking up at the twelve other people from his class who are also graduating the academy today. They're about to cross the stage, and Sting's anxiety is hitting him in a way that it hasn't since the first time he stood up in an AA meeting and admitted he was an alcoholic.

"Why don't you fit?" Rogue asks, touching Sting's cheek and pulling his gaze back to soft, brown eyes.

Sting sighs, tipping his head into Rogue's touch. "They're all good," he says, then shakes his head because that's not what he means. "I mean—they're not like me. They're good people, they've always been, and I'm… I am now, but I wasn't always, and I just—"

"Sting." Rogue leans in and kisses his forehead. "You've always been a good person. Nothing could change that."

Sting swallows hard and wraps his arms around Rogue's waist, pressing his forehead to Rogue's shoulder and holding him close. He wants to agree with Rogue, but it's hard. Some days he knows it's true, and other days all he can think about is how he's done so many awful things.

"You're my favorite person," Rogue says, voice muffled as he presses his face into Sting's unruly curls. "You always have been." Then he pulls back and squeezes Sting's arms. "Go on," he says, nodding toward the edge of the stage where everyone else is lined up. "You can do it."

Sting doesn't remember most of the ceremony – it's a blur of people talking and clapping and lights flashing as pictures are taken. By the time he finally finds Natsu, Rogue and Uncle Wes afterward, he's exhausted, but it doesn't feel overwhelming.

"I'm so proud of you," Uncle Wes says, hugging Sting tight. "You've come so far."

Sting laughs wetly, rubbing his face with a gloved hand. "Thank you," he says, and the smile Uncle Wes gives him makes him feel so, so loved.

"You did great," Natsu says, holding out his arms and pulling Sting into a tight embrace. His voice goes softer as he adds, "I knew you could do it."

They go out for dinner afterward, and it takes Sting a second to realize that it's the same restaurant that Uncle Wes took him to on his twelfth birthday. For some reason it makes him want to cry. Then Uncle Wes tells the waitress why they're celebrating, and the tears turn to embarrassment as Sting's face goes red and he tries to hide in Rogue's shoulder.

"Uncle Wes," he groans when the waitress slips him a piece of cake after dinner – the same kind they give for free on kid's birthdays. "I don't need—"

"Sting," Natsu says, kicking his ankle under the table. "You deserve this. Now shut up and eat your cake."

Natsu stays with them for a few days after the ceremony. The first time Natsu and Rogue had met, Sting had been so nervous that he'd nearly thrown up. But Natsu had hugged Rogue without a second thought, and now they're all friends, sitting on the couch and laughing and throwing popcorn at each other like they've known each other forever.

"I'm so happy for you," Natsu says when he finally has to leave. He squeezes Sting's hands, then pulls him into a hug. They stand like that for a while, and when Sting finally pulls back, he realizes Natsu is crying.

"What's wrong?" Sting asks quickly, but Natsu shakes his head.

"No, 's fine," he insists, wiping his face with his sleeve. "'m just all…" He trails off and Sting's hit with a realization.

"You haven't found him," he says gently. In all the excitement of graduating, he'd forgotten about Natsu's search for Ellie. Natsu sighs, tipping his head up and trying to catch his breath.

"No," he says eventually. "I haven't."

"I'm sorry." Sting sighs. "Maybe…. When I start working, maybe I can help."

Natsu nods, but Sting can see the defeat in his eyes, and he wishes desperately that there was something he could do.

Sting starts work at his dad's old precinct a week later, and when it finally comes time to head out the door for his first shift, the anxiety and doubt he's been working so hard to avoid hit him like a punch to the chest. He sits down hard on the couch, leaning forward on his arms and staring at the police cap he's holding in both hands. All he can think about is how one just like this used to hang on the hook by the front door when he was little.

"What if I'm just like him?"

"Sting." Rogue crouches down in front of him, tipping his chin up until they're looking at each other. "You can do this."

"But what if I can't?" Sting says, shaking his head and gripping the cap tighter. "What if something bad happens and I wanna drink again?"

"You've been sober for three years," Rogue says, running his thumb across Sting's cheek. "I can't promise that you won't want to, but if you do… you know how to handle it. You'll call your sponsor, you'll go to a meeting, you'll see your therapist."

Sting nods uncertainly, bouncing his knee. "I don't want to be like him," he says, rubbing his face. "I never wanted to be him and then I was, I fucked up so badly and did so much stupid shit, and now—how can I be a cop?"

"Because you've learned from those mistakes," Rogue replies. He moves up onto the couch next to Sting, running his fingers through Sting's hair. "You're a good person, love. You have so much compassion and such a big heart. You are nothing like your father."

Sting tries to take deep breaths, but they get stuck in his chest, so he focuses on the crease of his pants and the shine of the shoes that peek out from under the hem.

"I'm scared," he says, turning to look at Rogue.

"I know," Rogue says, "and that's what makes you different. You want to be better." He kisses Sting's forehead. "You can be scared and still go on."

Sting exhales, nudging Rogue's nose and kissing him. He lets the press of their lips pull the tension from him and ground him to the present.

"You're going to do so much good," Rogue says, wiping tears from Sting's cheeks as he pulls back. "The world needs more people like you."

Sting laughs through the tears. "More people like you," he replies, but Rogue shakes his head.

"It's easy to make good choices when you've never been forced into bad ones," Rogue says. "It's much harder to choose the right thing when everything in your life has hurt you. You've been through so much. The world has hurt you over and over, but every day you choose to be brave, and I'm so, so proud of you."

Rogue wraps his arms around Sting, pulling him close and stroking his hair as he cries. The tears start off quiet, but quickly turn to loud, choking sobs that shake Sting's entire body. Sting knows that it used to scare Rogue how hard he cried, but Rogue knows now that he needs it.

There's a loud mrowl and a dip on the couch as Lector hops up next to Sting, headbutting him and crawling onto his lap. Sting laughs, wiping at his face and scratching behind Lector's ears.

"Thank you," Sting says to Rogue as Lector arches into the touch, flicking his tail against Sting's chest. "I love you."

"I love you too," Rogue says, kissing Sting's nose and straightening his jacket. "And I know you're going to be great."

The precinct is exactly like Sting remembers it. There's lots of new faces, but some that used to come around on weekends and play poker with his dad. He's pretty sure they haven't bought a new coffee machine over the past ten years, and the desks are still arranged in the same order.

Sting scans the nameplates as he walks through the room. He's not supposed to meet the captain in a couple of hours, but he has something to do before he officially starts to work here.

Kelly's desk is in the exact same place as it was before. Stacks of paper and file folders are piled haphazardly around the computer, and three cups of cold coffee sit next to the phone. Kelly is sitting in her chair, squinting at her computer and grumbling under her breath.

"Sergeant now, huh?" Sting says, reaching out and tapping the nameplate on her desk. "Congrats."

Kelly looks up at him, a frown creasing her face. Her hair is gray around the temples now, but she still has the same eyes.

"Are you the new officer?" she asks, pushing back from the desk and standing up. "You're here a bit early." She offers her hand and he shakes it, trying to keep himself from trembling.

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "I, um…"

He's overwhelmed with emotion, suddenly – it's like he's eleven again, curled up against her in his bedroom closet, wishing he were anywhere else.

"You look familiar," Kelly says, tipping her head to the side as she studies him. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Sting nods, swallowing down the anxiety. "Yeah," he says. "I, uh… I used to be Abbey."

Kelly's eyes widen as she searches his face, a mix of hope and disbelief in her eyes. "Abbey?" she whispers. "Abbey Eucliffe?"

Sting nods, rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. "It's Sting, now," he says. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he tries not to stutter. Everything he was going to say has disappeared, and all he can think about is sitting on Kelly's lap in the hospital, crying while she told him that everything was going to be all right. "I know it's been a long time, but I wanted to tell you."

"Tell me what?" she asks. The expression on her face is still a mix of amazement and disbelief, and she looks like she wants to hug him.

"That I'm here because of you," Sting says, forcing himself to keep looking at her. His cheeks are burning but he needs to do this. "I wanted to be…" He blinks, trying not to cry. "You saved my life."

"Oh, honey," Kelly says, and this time she does hug him. He can't help the tears now, and a small part of him realizes that crying on his superior officer's shoulder on his first day of work probably isn't the best first impression. A bigger part of him doesn't care, because he's finally saying thank you to the person who helped him, even when he didn't want to be helped.

"I can't believe you're here," she says quietly.

Sting lets out a wet, shaky sigh and pulls back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I almost wasn't," he admits. He thinks of the tears and anger, the drunken fights and the scars on his arms, then pushes it all away and focuses on his new life instead.

"I'm here now," he says softly, and lets himself feel proud. "I did it."