Carlos was tired. Exhausted even. Regardless of the runs he took, the weed he smoked, the highs he rode, he was still yearning for more but his body was running out of time. So, it came as hardly a surprise when he blew a gasket running this morning. That left leg of his just couldn't handle the heat anymore. Love everyone but me.

That was Carlos' philosophy. He'd spent his entire life giving love away to everyone that wasn't him and he took out so much anger and frustration on his body by working every muscle till his tight tendons snapped. Then he laid there, in the dark, for a good hour. His eyes on the sky and the sudden realization that he didn't care sprung up in his mind.

'Let me die.' He thought.

Why? What could ever be this bad for a boy with a body like that. A boy with a winning smile, an adorable laugh, and the tendancy to do what ever it takes to make a friend feel good. Even if it meant he sat alone, drunk in his car, while she got railed by some prick they picked up at the bar. He wasn't in love with her but like all his friends he did love her.

When she came out to talk to him the other night, in her towel, he was too sedated to even notice it was still going on. She was sympathetic, and he could hardly see. Didn't even notice when her nightly divinity had made his friend drop the towel. Tori vega, mother of two, but incapable of actually raising them on due circumstances was a good person and had no idea the situation, when made clear to a newly sober Carlos, completely ruptured his heart.

He wanted to scream at her, "You matter dude. Why do you talk about wanting love to an artist and turn around to the control of a stranger every night." Sure she'd dated most of them before but isn't it a stranger if they walk in without a notice after having completely vanished. It tortured the dancer. He didn't spin anymore. He hadn't spun since he wound up on her couch a month ago.

Kicked out of the Knight house. Kendall; away on leave for the military. Poor soul. Kendall was a story teller. He had no business shaving his head and signing his body away to the dauntless system known as the U.S. Government. Kendall who wasn't there to help Carlos at the time because he was trapped.

Carlos, without Kendall felt trapped.

That's why he exploded one evening in July. Walked out the door. Slammed it behind him. Crawled into his car and lied there. Away from the chaos of Katie's constant obsession with him and Ms. Knights ruthless husband. Kendall hated him too. Of course no one could hate Ms. Knight. Even though she's the reason Carlos has been couch surfing.

There, lying out in the wet grass next to the walkway less than a mile from the apartment complex, he thought about how she might have been right. Carlos had been out of line that evening. A word as simple as, "bully" can come across as vicious in the right subtext. Even if it was true, it wasn't his house. He was there to prepare for a showcase this Halloween. Something he's been working on for a year.

Kendall left about eight months in and Carlos hasn't been the same ever since. Maybe it was self sabotage. Perhaps he felt himself slipping before he actually did and this is why he's out here allowing himself to suffer from excruciating pain. The knights were so bright. So warm. So stabilizing. So why is it he sacrificed the stability?

He was just about to answer this question for himself when a shadow slipped out into the streaks of blur in his eyes. Oh, dear God. It's that moment. In the car. Listening to her scream as a man fucked her where he was supposed to sleep that night. The helplessness of six shots and four Texas pours of wine. Sedated. Unable to stop the chaos as it's happening.

Soon he's being pulled away into the thicket and out of view.

Oh sweet Carlos. Oh, where have you gone?

These were the words of Kendall, out in the smoke of dry sand billowing from the stomping boots of hard working men and women training diligently for an apocalypse none of them realize happens every day. It's hot. He's sweating bullets and the man beside him in the barracks is asleep so he gives himself a moment to weep.

A memory becomes him. Where in lied the twirling lights of a midnight party. Sips of wine and talks of a story we love so very much. A book we need to finish writing but Kendall has no time and Carlos is falling apart. Or he was now he's just gone. Where the Hell have you gone? Where's the feeling they had on the rooftop in sunrise listening to Katy Perry and wondering deep down if they were going to really be the one who got away? Oh how cryptic the irony.

Shuffling behind him. He's gotten good at hiding the woe now. They have no earthly idea he's been crying. The boys who he bunked with were the typical macho type and thought him one too. They respected his words and his poetry but he never let slip the emotion. Only the philosophy. That's who he expected to be behind him but it wasn't.

"Private." Said a warm familiar voice.

He nodded and turned around with an ease, "Yes, Sargent Hunt."

This was his commanding officer. A surgeon. Kendall would help people. Not end them. Standing at attention Owen hunt saw him as a protege. Of course, Kendall had no idea.

Owen studied him for a moment. Then chose his words carefully, "Somethings affected you. Greatly. It's none of my business or the boys in the barracks. Do you need to go home?"

How shattering. The sudden willingness. This never happens. A hand to his face was it possible his gecko skills were a lie? Did everyone know he was on the brink of madness. He shook his head, "No sergeant. I need help. I hear you have some experience in the field of missing persons."

A cold chill ran down Seargent Hunt's spine. Yes, in fact. His sister had vanished for sometime. He remembered seeing her face in an OR out in Seattle operating on a john doe. He remembered what it felt like to lose someone and decided immediately he would do what he could.

"Where was he last seen?" Asked Hunt.

The private told him, "Hollywood hills. They're thinking it's linked to the Gabble case."

The expression on Owen's face morphed the way it does when a doctor delivers bad news to a hopeful family, "Go home... but I'm sorry to say there's no hope for your friend."

People can't just take leave from the military. It doesn't work like that. He thought about getting angry. Storming out there and yelling at his sergeant. Getting in trouble. Feeling the wrath of punishments they dealt out to the insubordinate. Then the guy next to him was stirring and a young James Masslow looked up at his friend with a smile and a head of messy brown locks.

Then the smile was replaced with concern, "What's wrong?"

"My friend has been kidnapped and the sergeant told me to go home and forget about it." He spits out, Kendall's never been one to hide his words.

Someone else was listening. They turn to the new voice in the doorway that says, "That sounds like some conspiracy shit right there."

Logan Mitchell, with his big spectacles and that box of mechanical shit he carried around. He spins on his toes and shouts across the isle of tents in the shade, "Hey Camille."

A girl, as equally quirky as him, came trotting over and with her came the billow of sand dust. Her black curls were fuzzy and helmeting her head and her spectacles were twice as big as Logan's.

"Sarge just ordered Kendall to go home and forget his friend was kidnapped." He told her.

She furrowed her brows and spun her face to look at Kendall.

Suddenly he didn't feel he was in the line of sympathy. More over he felt he was the front man in a new quest. Guess that's what happens when you spend your whole life preparing for the end. When it happens it's never in a way you expect. He wouldn't be going home. He'd be finding Gabbie's killer.