Prompt: "Ritsuka has a human reaction to being told that no, he can't go home to see his family and friends for the first time in two years because they were all butchered over the course of three months. So he goes and experience a mental breakdown in his room and Boudica comes in to console him." — Eteru, answered by nd7878 and TungstenCat

"Ritsuka, I'm… sorry."

A beat passed. Ritsuka's smile didn't falter, just like in Fuyuki, just like in the Temple of Time, just like… every single time. Of those in the Shadow Border, only three people knew him well enough to see the shift. Only three saw the light in his eyes flicker out, and understood that he had gone into autopilot.

Da Vinci hurt, but she was the one who had to tell him. This wasn't like the singularities, this wasn't something that could realistically be fixed, only stopped. Everyone was already dead. His family was already dead.

Holmes couldn't do anything, not for this. He could read the tells, see the signs, watch the gears turn in Ritsuka's head, but this was emotion, not logic. It wasn't a puzzle. He'd been forced to acknowledge that he couldn't solve human emotions, and turned away from the scene.

Mash tried. She stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Senpai," she tried. But this was something beyond her scope. She'd known him for a while now, but she wasn't family, not in that way. He didn't even look at them as he turned and walked to his room in silence.

As the door slid shut behind him, Ritsuka was alone.

Not alone, but at the same time, completely, utterly alone. He sat on the bed, straight-backed and quiet, for longer than he should have. He should be outside, leading, helping, or at least present- the Master who stopped the incineration of mankind would mean more as a figurehead than locked in his room.

But he couldn't. Instead, he reached beneath his bunk and let his hand wrap around the grip of a certain briefcase. Heavy metal, whirring with internal machinery, hummed against his palm as he pulled the last remnants of his Servants onto his legs. Not Servants, no, friends. The ones he was forced to say goodbye- the ones he wasn't even allowed to say goodbye to before they were cut from Chaldea's power supply, thrown aside as tools when the fight was "over." As if all their fighting and bonding didn't mean anything. As if he didn't spend nights laughing with them around the campfire in some godforsaken era long repaired.

Vanished into memory. Just like his father's furrowed brow over his morning coffee, his mother's impatient tap of foot, his sister's crooked smile—

The first whimper caught in his throat, and for a beat of his pounding heart, he thought he might hold it. Then the damn burst into great ugly sobs, wracking his body until his sides ached and he thought he might vomit. Bile lodged in his throat, briny tears and snot flowing down his cheeks to soak his collar, and still they wouldn't stop.

Warm hands descended on his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on his hunched back. A gentle touch so reminiscent of his sister, when she tried to cheer him up whenever he returned from school with a black eye and jeers ringing in his ears, and oh god she's gone I'll never see her again-

"It's alright, Master. There is no shame in mourning what we've lost, and even a commander must grieve."

The familiar voice was both a comfort and another stab to his heart, because she wasn't here, of course she wasn't. The only memory of her was in the briefcase clutched in his grip. But if he closed his eyes and let himself pretend, just for a moment…

"Boudica, I… I don't know if I can do this again. Last time it was by the skin of our teeth, and only because Romani… died for us. No, worse than died.."

The tears burned hot in his eyes as he sobbed again, biting his fists in an effort to keep his howls muffled. Here, alone in his room, he could cry without them seeing him break, without worrying them. But if they heard him, knew how weak he'd gotten…

"He made that sacrifice so we could carry on. And we will, Master."

Her breath against his ear was a phantom of his mind, but still a comfort.

"I can't… it's too much, Boudica. What if I can't reverse it this time? What if they're gone for good?"

He pivoted around, and for a moment he could see blue eyes and a gentle smile.

"Then we keep going anyway, for the sake of the ones we can still save." Her sigh echoed through the room, somehow carrying even over his gasps and whimpers. "For all the children whose futures count on you."

He managed a shaky smile. "And you'd know, wouldn't you."

"Yes. My heart died the day that Prasutagus was killed, that my daughters were hurt. But I lead the Iceni to War, for all the others Rome would have crushed under her feet."

"And… we'll see each other again, right?"

There was a long silence. Even in his imagination, he knew she couldn't promise him that. The Queen of Victory had lost in the end, as they both knew. No, he had already asked the impossible from her, he couldn't do that—

"I promise you that spring will come again," she said at last, and despite the missing words, it was birdsong in his chest. "Even if I'm not there to greet it with you, there is hope and smiles on the other side. So please, keep marching towards victory. My… our Master. Our friend."

"Yeah." He wiped his face. The sleeve of his shirt, a uniform of an organization that no longer existed but still mattered beyond words, was drenched in salt water and something worse. But he smiled away. "I'll make you proud."

"That's more than enough… Ritsuka."