The calm and familiar sights of Massachusetts as the plane began flying lower and lower should have been a comfort to Waits. He had been staring out the window since takeoff, and hadn't looked away. A few of the other passengers had occasionally glanced at him, namely his sling, but didn't bother to say anything. The man sitting next to him attempted conversation, and all Waits felt he could do was retreat further into himself. Yeah, hi, nice to meet you. I just lost someone I love. I was just in a warzone. I was just in surgery. I'm likely going to be forced into retirement because I'm a broken old man. How about you?

He bit his tongue, and kept staring out the window.

Sitting in one position for so long didn't help any of his injuries. He nearly keeled over when a sharp jab exploded in his lower back. His right arm had gone numb. His head started throbbing when he returned to the real world. Battered, broken old man, he kept thinking to himself. It took every ounce of strength he had left to not shout in pain.

Despite the doctors' insistence, Waits refused to use a cane or crutches. After having lost so much, he didn't want to go home looking weakened. He didn't want people constantly holding doors open for him, offering to carry things for him, basically treating him like an invalid and incapable of caring for himself. Don't need people asking if I've lost my way back to the nursing home.

When he entered the airport, Waits realized he was free to do whatever he wanted until he was called back into service. At any other point in time, he would have been excited. Now, he had an overwhelming desire to find somewhere dark to hide in. He wanted a drink, even though he was told to avoid alcohol until he was fully recovered from his concussion and off all his medication.

The medications were a combination of pain and sleep aids, mainly because he was having headaches at night. His difficulties sleeping weren't limited to his concussion. For the first time in his life, he was afraid of going to sleep. The nightmares he had in cryosleep continued during his stay at the hospital. He never thought much about sleep before, but now he found himself praying for every night for the rest of his life to be dreamless.

He wasn't supposed to be driving, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He hadn't taken any of his pills since leaving the hospital three hours ago. Driving with only one arm free wouldn't be easy, but it was doable. Anything to avoid relying on other people.

Waits went out to the long-term parking garage to see his Blazer, which, despite being a truck, had been his only companion for the last 31 years. That and his Model 4506. Both were with him, and both were safe. The gun needed to be fully cleaned, and the Blazer had dust on it, but that was all.

For things so simple, he never thought he would ever be so relieved and grateful to have them. Sitting in the driver's seat with the door open, Waits put his head on the steering wheel. He wasn't sure what to do next, other than drive around aimlessly. Yeah, that was a good idea.

Shutting his gun in the glove compartment, Waits closed the door and started the vehicle. He knew he couldn't drive aimlessly for the next two months, but he felt it was what he needed to do in that moment.

Sitting in traffic near the middle of Boston, Waits would normally be frustrated with how slow it was. Tonight was a different story. He didn't have the strength or motivation to be frustrated. His mind was already preoccupied. Every time traffic came to a halt, he found himself glancing to his right, half-expecting to see Aslett there. He wished she was there.

The realization that he was alone here hit him like a freight train, the same way it did in the Metro station. At least he didn't have to throw up this time. He tried distracting himself by looking around at the lights and buildings surrounding him. Boston was vastly different to LV-112. It didn't feel isolated. It felt lively and busy. There were hundreds of things Waits could do here.

The casualties here would be a lot higher, Waits found himself thinking. But the military isn't far off. The people wouldn't have to wait. Still... I wouldn't want to be here if those aliens attacked. Waits looked forward when traffic finally started moving. Who am I kidding? I'd be the first one out there, trying to fight alongside the Marines. I couldn't pull myself away if I tried.

A dull jabbing sensation started in his shoulder, and spread down his back and up his neck into his head. He was still driving, and didn't know where he was going. Not taking any of those fucking pills yet.

"When this is all over, you are not going to half-ass your recovery."

Waits tightened his grip on the wheel when he heard Aslett's voice in his head. He made a quick turn into a parking garage, much to the annoyance of the vehicle behind him, and roamed around until he found an open spot.

There was dead silence when Waits turned the truck off. Nothing but echoes from other vehicles pulling in and out. He left the truck, and grabbed his belongings from the backseat before closing and locking the vehicle. The pain throbbing throughout his body felt more and more like a nuisance than a serious problem. He wasn't sure why. Was it because he was tired of being in pain? Was it because he just wanted to go back to work? Was it because he was tired of feeling in general? Everything he felt in the last several days had been so negative, and it weighed on him heavily.

The desire to feel nothing reared up in the back of his head, and a chill shot down his spine, swiftly branching out to the rest of his body. I don't want to feel nothing. I just want to stop feeling sad. But how can I do that when Lace is gone? When I'm probably gonna be forced to retire when I recover? When I'm gonna have to live the rest of my life alone?

The hotel room was cozy and quiet. A fan was slowly and steadily swiveling back and forth while Waits sat in a chair, staring out the window, every sense dull after finally taking his painkillers. He turned over a pack of cigarettes in his hand, knowing he already broke the doctors' orders with driving. What harm with this do?

It had been over an hour since he checked into this room. The boredom was just as painful as his head and shoulder and back were before taking the pills. The silence became deafening.

His mind was quick to substitute the silence with something else. Explosions from the alien ships bombing the colony. Screaming from wounded civilians. His own heavy breathing while running through hazy smoke—

Unsteadily, Waits stood up. He still felt numb from the painkillers, but the panic and fear and disorientation in his memories felt so real and raw. He backed into the bed, collapsing and covering his face. I don't want to remember what happened anymore. I don't want it coming back. I want to move on. If I can't move on, I can't prepare myself for whatever's next. Why do I even care about preparing myself for what's next?! I know what's next! I'm gonna be ordered to fucking retire! I'm gonna spend the rest of my fucking life alone. I'm probably going to die alone, too, and no one's gonna find my corpse until they realize the newspapers are piling up on my doorstep...

There couldn't possibly be a more depressing way to go, could there? Waits tried to banish that thought from his mind, but it refused to go, instead anchoring itself in his brain like a parasite. How do I fix this? How do I make sure I'm not alone when I've lost the only person in the universe who can actually put up with me? What are the odds of me finding someone else like her?

The majority of the next two months were spent in that Boston hotel room, overlooking the lively downtown area. Waits had never had somewhere he definitely considered "home." He knew every apartment and condo he stayed at in every colony was temporary. With his fears about being forced into retirement becoming just as invasive as the memories of LV-112, he decided he needed to find a place to live before he became homeless, but the hotel would do for now, until he had a definite answer.

He certainly felt like he was homeless. He felt like he didn't belong anywhere, and although that wasn't a new feeling for him, it felt ten times more painful now.

Interacting with strangers to acquire simple things like food felt more draining than they needed to be. It didn't help that someone actually asked him why he looked so sad, and Waits had no clue how to answer. It wasn't exactly an easy question, nor was it something he wanted to discuss with strangers.

"It's none of your business," he said.

He knew he was pushing people away by acting like that, but he didn't particularly care, despite knowing that this wasn't healthy. He didn't leave except for routine visits to a nearby hospital to check that his injuries were healing properly. After two months had passed, he sent his most recent results to Command, and spent the next several days dreading their answer.

It seemed like a massive stroke of luck when Waits received a phone call saying that he was fit to return to duty, but he didn't feel relieved. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. When he put the phone back on its hook, he felt numb.

He had to go into the other side of Boston to discuss where he would be next stationed, and met with a young Marshal named Callistal in an office with a very nice view of the city. Waits watched traffic go by while sitting in the office, waiting for Callistal. When the young man finally arrived, he sat across from Waits, smiling. "Probably feels good to get back into action, doesn't it?"

Waits didn't return the smile. "Feels good to not sit on my ass anymore."

"You were last stationed on LV-112, right?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Given the... incident, I don't blame you, but they are trying to rebuild their Marshal staff, and you're the most senior officer they had who survived, so—"

"I can't go back."

"You'd be a great help to—"

"Are you fucking deaf? I said, I can't go back."

"Would you mind telling me why?"

"It's none of your business, son, that's why."

"Waits, I'm not trying to force you into a decision, but I'm curious as to why you don't want to go back to LV-112. If you need help as to your mental health—"

"I don't need help, but if you send me back there, I might need it."

Callistal nodded. "Okay. We'll leave it at that. There's a department in Netrayas that can take you. I'll send them a message, and call you when I get a reply."

"That's fine by me."

Sending messages to colonies in space took awhile, leaving Waits with several more weeks on his own, several more weeks of nightmares and occurrences where he wasn't sure where he was. He thought he would be completely alone, but was surprised when his sister showed up at his door a few days after his meeting with Callistal.

Any other day, that would have been a happy occasion.

Esmeralda was smiling when Waits opened the door, and hugged him tightly before saying anything. She then looked up at him, holding his arms. Tears were in her eyes, and she squeezed Waits's arms. "Why didn't you say you were here? When I heard what happened on LV-112, I thought you were dead."

"Yeah, well, Ashton probably would've preferred to hear that. I told the hospital I didn't want anyone notified, because I highly doubt your husband would want me staying with you for two months," Waits snapped.

"At least I would have known you were alive! I could've helped with—"

"I don't want help! Why does everyone want to fucking help me? I don't want it. I don't need it. Just stop trying! No one's ever wanted to help me before! Why does everyone want to help me now?"

Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket. Waits found himself struggling to look into his sister's eyes. Regret speared his chest.

"Jethro, what's wrong?" Esmeralda asked.

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. Everything's fucking peachy."

"Clearly, it's not." Esmeralda touched Waits's shoulder. "It's just me here. We can talk."

"Give me one good reason why I should talk to anyone. I can't have Command thinking I'm no longer capable of functioning. I got fucking lucky with my injuries. I highly doubt I'd get lucky here. I don't want to be stuck at a desk until I'm forced to retire, but I also don't want to be forced to retire."

"This can stay between us. I won't tell anyone what's going on, even Ashton."

Waits released his breath. "You promise?"

"I promise."

Waits collapsed onto the couch. "I don't know where to start. I... I lost the one person I could trust, and... loved. And... I never got to say goodbye. I keep seeing her in my dreams, and sometimes when I'm awake. It feels like she's really there, and when I realize she's not there..." Waits trailed off, "it's not something I can even begin describe." He managed to make eye contact with Esmeralda. "I know grief is normal. I know everyone goes through it in their own way, but I don't want anyone looking at me and thinking I can't pull through."

"You're a lot more in-tune with your emotions than you give yourself credit for." Esmeralda took her brother's hand. "You feel things deeply and passionately. Don't be ashamed of that."

"I can't be feeling things passionately when I'm on the job. I've never had that problem. I'm just afraid of thinking about Lace when I don't want to. Or anything else that happened out there."

"What exactly did happen?"

"An alien species called the Dheldroi attacked because LV-112 was an abandoned territory of theirs they lost in a war. They tried to slaughter every single colonist. Didn't matter if they were a shop owner, or an administrator. They were determined to kill everyone. Hell, they didn't even attempt to communicate with us. They were pretty damn sure our fate was sealed from the start." Waits closed his eyes, smelling the smoke and hearing the screams of the dying again. "I wasn't about to let that happen. I took a group of Marshals and harassed the aliens as much as possible, until we couldn't fight anymore. Even when I was injured several times, I wanted to keep going. I couldn't let them kill all of us.

"I tried getting everyone to flee north, and wait until the Marines realized we weren't checking in. Some people managed to run, but we were getting cut down left and right, and I guess... that's where I lost Lace. Then I tried getting survivors out through the woods on the west side of the colonies. Couldn't do that because the Dheldroi set the woods on fire, so I was trapped with a bunch of other Marshals and civilians under the Bureau until the Marines arrived."

Esmeralda gently rubbed Waits's shoulder. "I can't even begin to imagine how you felt. I mean, I've never been in a situation like that, but... that had to be horrible."

"I don't want you to ever be in a situation like that. 'Horrible' doesn't even begin to describe it. I've been in bad situations before, but not like this."

"If you want me to be completely honest with you, Jethro, I think you need to get help if your nightmares get worse."

"I can't do that if it costs me my job. I can't sit here and be alone for the rest of my life."

"You won't be alone."

"Right. Ashton's not going to accept me, regardless of what happens."

"I'll still visit you. You need to take care of yourself—"

"Em, we've had this discussion before. I don't need vacations. I don't need time to myself. I need to go back to doing what I do best. If I lose that, I don't know what I'm going to do with my life."

"This is different. Your mental health is important—"

"I've already had several people tell me that. As long as I'm not sent back to LV-112, I'll be fine."

Esmeralda did her best to occupy Waits while he waited for his new assignment, and Waits appreciated her effort, even if it didn't always work. Despite that, it was nice to be around his sister again. The more they talked and went around Boston together, the more Waits realized how much he missed her. He missed the long summers they spent together, driving around Massachusetts, camping in the woods. They hadn't done stuff like that since Waits left for training, and doing all that again was comforting.

Waits was certain that just not thinking or talking about LV-112 would help. He wanted to bury those memories as deep as he could. He couldn't do that with Aslett, though, but he wished he could bury the pain of missing her. It didn't seem to be getting any easier.

Even when he thought his grief and trauma were getting easier to handle, something would come along to shatter it. On a morning shortly before Waits received his new assignment, he and Esmeralda decided to take a walk around downtown Boston. Waits thought nothing of it. It was sunny, hot, and humid. There were only a couple of puffy white clouds in the sky. People went about their days in the streets. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Waits had heard cars backfiring before. His own truck had done it before. Still, when he heard a loud bang from somewhere in the street, he didn't hear a car backfiring. He heard his handgun going off in the range under the Bureau, trying to prevent the Dheldroi from getting inside.

I can't let them get to Em! Without thinking beyond that, Waits pulled Esmeralda to the ground, shielding her with his body. "Stay down!" he hissed.

"Jethro! Hey—" Esmeralda grabbed Waits's shirt collar. "Hey! Listen to me! You're not on the colony anymore."

It took a moment for the screaming of alien fighter craft overhead to die down and return to the recesses of his brain. Waits glanced around frantically, seeing the familiar streets of Boston. No matter how much he tried to find comfort in where he was, he could feel nothing but anxiety.

Reality started to come back when Esmeralda helped him stand. "Talk to me," she said. "Are you OK?"

Honestly, I don't know. "I'll be fine. Can we go somewhere quieter?" Just not too quiet. I don't need thoughts like this coming back.

That incident wasn't isolated. Nightmares plagued his sleep. The summer season brought fireworks, and Waits spent several nights hiding under a desk with his handgun drawn, unsure of where he was or what was happening. Despite all of it, he remained firm in not wanting to talk to anyone, not when he was so close to getting a new assignment and putting LV-112 behind him.

When he finally received orders to travel out to LV-510, Waits was relieved, though deep down, he knew it wasn't going to be the end of the nightmares and the flashbacks.

Traveling on a civilian ship out to LV-510 was nothing new to Waits. The only "new" thing was that he constantly felt contradictory feelings, like being anxious and tired at the same time. He was worried about his new boss sensing that something was wrong, but another part of him simply didn't care.

He ignored the overly pleasant and scripted greetings of the stewardess when he made his way over to his cryotube for the three-week journey. It was the same greeting every single flight. It hadn't changed in the thirty years he had been traveling, just like how he always traveled alone, and how he felt like he wouldn't be missed.

Things could have changed with Aslett. Waits highly doubted they would be able to travel to new assignments together, especially if someone caught wind of the fact that they were together. He couldn't imagine having to go to a completely different planet than her, being millions of miles away from her and not knowing how she was every single day.

But, no. Things haven't changed at all. The only thing that had changed was that he could now picture a "what could have been," and it grew more painful the longer he thought about it.

Laying down in his cryotube, Waits started praying for a dreamless journey, and that he didn't wake up over LV-112. As the tube closed, all he could hear was his own breathing. The air inside gradually became colder and colder, and his senses numbed drastically. As his heart began to slow, he felt less able to move.

When are the Marines coming? I'm not staying here! I have to keep fighting! Waits tried to open his eyes, but the air had gotten so cold and dry that it stung to do so. You're not there anymore, Jethro, don't let this shit control you.

Cold darkness enveloped him, and he couldn't think anymore.

His dreams were a flash flood of memories and scenarios no conscious mind could come up with. He could see himself running with Aslett through the woods, holding hands. Suddenly, she was blasted away by the blue laser of an alien fight craft. Waits knew he was screaming, but no sound was coming from his throat. He looked up to see the fighter coming around for another pass, and he was in its sights.

When the blue flash enveloped him, it soon faded to reveal he was back in the armory below the Bureau. Civilians, trapped under concrete rubble, were reaching out to him, screaming and crying. Every inch of them was covered in blood. Among them was Brooks, Shea, Aslett, Nicosia, Wiecher, Naraleth, Zinnia, everyone he ever spoke to or bonded with while he was on the colony. Even Stein was with them, her almost stereotypically corporate appearance tarnished with blood and soot.

Waits, too, was wounded. His head was throbbing, and his shoulder was unusable from being shot with an alien rifle. A strong desire to help pushed him to inch closer to his companions, but a feeling of powerlessness engulfed him. He felt weaker and weaker as he tried to move closer, but suddenly found he wasn't moving anything but his good arm.

A hissing sound filled his ears, and the only thing he could feel was cold. Inside, he was panicking, but he couldn't move. He wanted to scream. Something—anything—to get someone's attention.

He felt somewhat relieved when he could move again, but as soon as he sat up, he leaned over the side of the tube to vomit. Every muscle in his body was sore, as though he had been running nonstop for the last three weeks. Just getting out of the cryotube was difficult. Getting a hot shower was a relief, but as soon as he stepped into the cold air of the locker room to grab the rest of his belongings, the soreness returned with the force of a freight train.

This had better not be a fucking sign I'm getting old. Waits pushed past the nausea and dizziness as he left the transport onto a dock in the sunny tropical city of Netrayas. He felt like the sun was burning into his forehead. Pain seared behind his eyes as he followed the rest of the passengers to a large building where his ticket would be stamped and he could find his way to the city's Marshal station.

He didn't say anything to anyone aside from a taxi driver. When he arrived at the station, he tried to put on a brave face, though deep down, he felt ready to collapse.

The station's head Marshal was a well-built woman with cropped black hair. She was sitting on the edge of a desk, talking with a young man who was holding a cup of coffee and complaining that the fax machine broke for the third time that month. As soon as Waits walked in, the woman stood up. "Good to see you made it, sir. My name's Inez Malton. I'm head of this department. You're... Waits, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Waits replied.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I know your file mentioned that you were on LV-112 during the—"

"Whatever my file says about LV-112, I don't want to talk about it."

"All I was going to say is that I'm sorry for what you went through. If there's anything I can do to make you comfortable, just let me know."

"Just don't bring it up. That's all I ask." Waits adjusted his grip on his luggage, looking down at the floor.

"You're sure there's nothing else you need?"

"Positive." Waits followed Malton down a hallway to his new office. He had been in this station before. He knew it inside and out, so he allowed his mind to wander as she talked. He wanted nothing more than to put LV-112 behind him, but that meant trying to forget about Aslett, too. Perhaps it's best I don't bother looking for someone like her. What're the odds I'm going to find someone who can put up with me? It's not gonna happen and I shouldn't try. Lace was it.

It was close to sunset when Waits left the station to his new temporary apartment. It wasn't even a block away from the station. Easy to walk to, though he missed his truck. He spent the walk thinking about what had happened over the last several months.

Next time I get into a shitty situation like LV-112, I'm going to try harder. I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect the population. I can't let anyone down. Not again.