As far as I can remember he was always there for me and I was always there for him, ever since we were kids. I wasn't they type of girl who played with dolls, I liked to go outside and feel the dirt under my hands. My clumsy rough nature got me into a lot of tumbles and a lot of fights. For a while I was picked on and had to defend for myself on the streets where I grew up until he came around. I just remember it being one of those days where things just go wrong every hour. At one point, as usual, the boys around my neighborhood started to harass me.

It was always something. They made fun of my hair, my face, my mannerisms, my lack of being girly, anything they could dig into they would and all I had were my words-sharp as blades, and my fists. Two weak weapons against the seething mass of hate. Out of nowhere came a tall dark shadow and all by his lonesome he scared them off. When he asked me "Are you alright?" I couldn't answer. My mouth felt dry and my eyes felt wet. From that day forward I saw him as my hero.

It was a bit silly of me to follow him around everywhere like I did and it was sillier still to think he'd never notice. Thankfully he wasn't like the others, he didn't mind me at all. He let me hang out with him and I stuck to his hip like glue, knowing he would chase all the demons away. Since I roughed around so much, I ended up getting a lot of cuts and bruises, it was just how it was being me.

He told me that if I kept on going the way I was I'd look like a mummy one day. He started bringing bandages with him then and often on purpose I would get hurt just so he would press close to me and put one on. Once he even kissed my forehead and told me to be more careful. I thought for sure then that I had never cared for another person so deeply as I did him and I swore to protect him as he did me.

He taught me to fight so I could defend myself since he couldn't always be there for me. He became my best friend, my mentor, the one thing I could rely on. We went to school together and worked well as a team. My fighting skill soon could compare only a few levels below his own. We both loved the same things of which included battles, we sparred with each other often. His words of encouragement often spurred me on to becoming better than I was.

I wanted to make him proud. I wanted him to smile at me and tell me I did a great job. So even when he wasn't there, I trained my body until I was no longer than skinny little girl who everyone picked on. He said I had a certain fire behind my eyes, a glint of perseverance and steady resolve. We were warriors, we were militants, fighting side by side in combat, dressed in dark camo and armed to the teeth with weapons. I was good for recon and stealth but I could do explosives and shooting anytime, just as well as any man.

I would never compare to him. For his size he was quick on his feet and could lift three times his own weight. I would forever look up to him, idolize him, and when on the battlefield I would cover his flank wherever possible. He could take care of himself fine enough but I wanted to give him extra protection, just in case. I started becoming interested in nursing people, taking care of him when he was wounded started that. I realized I liked taking care of others, helping my fellow man on the field so they could live to fight another day.

I needed to know this kind of skill in case anything went wrong. It wouldn't do to lose him, the one person who, even after meeting and befriending others, I cared for like no one else. Then on a mission together I slipped up for the first time in my life and let myself get captured by the enemy. They tried torturing answers out of me but I wasn't talking no matter what. I had taken a sworn oath to keep all intel strictly confidential and no matter how much pain inflected I would die holding those secrets.

One blow to the head knocked me out clean cold but at least I wasn't dead. For that I was thankful because I wanted to see him one last time if I should happen to die. At least he would know I didn't go down without a fight, I had put my all, my very soul into this. I could hear faintly in my state but everything sounded off like a ringing in my ear mixed with muffled voices. Gurgled screams, echoes of gunshots, the clash of metal on metal, and voices. So many voices all mixed together in a slurry mess.

Then I was shaken hard over and over only causing the rattling in my head to intensify. I was unaware of everything until I slowly started to come to. My senses started working one by one and first that worked was sound. I heard him, his voice, he sounded so sad, so frantic. My heart sped with worry because at first I thought they had captured him too somehow but as his words went into my ears, I realized that wasn't true.

"Don't you die on me Nygus! Don't you dare! Come on wake up!"

Over and over I heard every variation of that. That's when my eyes fluttered open and the harsh light blinded me for a moment. Then I saw him, first out of focus, then in focus. He was holding onto me and I was no longer strapped up. I could smell blood faintly but it wasn't from him. I could vaguely see bodies on the floor. He had killed all the captors. I had never seen him lose his cool, not once, not before or after. He was a levelheaded, chill sort of person, even in the heat of battle. He never faltered, he never screamed, he never panicked.

That was until then. I had a nasty gash on my hip that was bleeding profusely and he was trying to hold something onto the wound to stop the bleeding. I realized it was an armband he ripped off of himself. I sat there going in and out of consciousness hearing him beg me to hold on, that help was on the way, that I wasn't allowed to die. When I finally woke up out of my stupor, I was in a hospital bed being tended to. I had been out for a week they said. It was the weakest I had ever felt because I had failed so poorly.

When they knew I was alright they let him into the room. He had dark rings under his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept a wink. The nurse left us alone and I confessed to him that I had failed, I had ruined everything, I had corrupted the mission. He denied all of it, holding tight to my hand. He told me I was so brave to withstand all that torment and never spill a thing, that because of me top tier information had not been leaked to the enemy and they knew no more than they had before. He told me I was fearless, a fierce fighter to the end.

However he told me never to do that again, to stick by him no matter what because he couldn't lose me. I couldn't help but allow myself a small smile knowing now he cared. He truly cared for me. I never slipped up ever again. We lived with each other for a long time, he was my roommate, and I wasn't the best cook but I made all the meals. He'd try to help but when only in that field was he a total clutz. At least he tidied up his side of the room. Sometimes I would just stare at him when he wasn't aware, admire him, indulge in the delight of seeing him the way only I was allowed to see him.

As a man. Not a teacher. Not a drill master. Not a sharp shooting sniper. Just a person, a human being. I guess it was fun to imagine I was the one who knew all his quirks and turn ons, all his flaws if he had any, and all his fears. I knew him like no one else and he knew me like no one else. Just when I thought nothing could bring us closer, we started living in different places and somehow that brought us closer than ever before. He stayed mostly at the school he taught at, though I frequented there. Wherever he was, I was.

He took on the role of father at some point, to a young blue haired boy they found after a fight. They had destroyed his entire family but they had not the hearts to kill an innocent so he raised him like his very own and taught him just like he taught me. He taught him how to fight, how to watch out for yourself, how to defend those you care for most, and above all believing in yourself. I don't think the boy ever saw him as his father but I felt he was a father to him more so than any and I suppose in some way that made me his mother. That's what got us closer.

I truly loved him; I knew that now more than ever but I had never told him. How could I tell him? We were meant to be friends, comrades, fighters. Nothing more. I couldn't ever hope for more or want for more. I had to be content with just that but my soul beat in tune to his only and it was hard to ignore that. Then one day that soul broke along with my heart. I got the news first before anyone else because everyone knew I was the one he cared for most and vice versa. One day he was there the next day he was gone. Forever.

I couldn't bare it. It was shameless of me, in some way I knew that, but I couldn't go on without him. My home, my heart, my everything felt...empty. I never got to tell him just how I felt, how much he meant to me, what he did for me, what he gave to me. Now it seemed I never would. I only shed tears in private, I allowed no one to know of my true pain. I had learned to hide it, never show it, and so I never showed myself much. Everyone knew it, everyone commented on the fact that I was gone more now than he was. Of course, he was a part of me and when he died a part of me died too.

What was I supposed to do now? I know he'd have wanted me to move on and continue forth with my life but how? Where was I to go? Often I would hear his voice only to turn and it to be but a memory, a ghost of what once was. I was losing my mind to the sadness and had no way to escape it. Sometimes I would go out and find wars to be in just to take my mind off of it all but it never helped, just reminded me of him.

I had never believed in an afterlife but I lived in an era of magic, an age of witchcraft and sorcery, and mad science. Burrowing deep into the dark depths of the library I found spells and rituals to bring the dead back to life and though I was warned many times it was dangerous and they might not come back the same...I had to...I just had to. So I found a coworker, a certain Doctor Stein, and I asked him if he was capable of such a thing. He told me it would be all too easy.

I had worried for a moment he'd ask something of me, some sort of price I must pay for his services, but he was delighted to do it if for nothing else than to sate his curiosity. I almost didn't want to believe it would work because I wanted to be smacked with the hard facts I knew all my life, the dead just don't up and rise. Then I saw him crawl out of that grave and everything changed and yet nothing changed. He was blue, his eyes were like two white voids, he could no longer smile or frown, and he was cold as ice with a still heart. Yet he was the same as ever before.

So I donned the bandages for him, to remind him of what once was and what will be. I can never have more than this with him now, he is no longer alive, can no longer feel, can't heat up under a woman's touch, or kiss, or have children, or anything. I live a false life, a sweet lie. I never did like to play pretend but now I am pretending that everything is alright. I can't ever tell him I love him but I will until the end of time and I will always be there for him, just as he was always there for me, even after death.