A deep, masculine voice spoke beside him. It was unintelligible and still familiar. Everything was foggy, hazy. Brad felt like he was floating in an ocean, his face only barely above the lapping water and ever-threatening to sink beneath the waves.

The water morphed around him and the voices continued, muffled. The cool, comfortable ocean water became a vibrant red, then pulsed green. Streaks of white light began to arc from the distance towards him and each one that reached him brought a shock of pain.

"We've got him," the voice near him said, as clear as day. Another pulsing shock. "He's good...but we gotta disarm him."

Brads eyes shot open and everything around him was blurry. He was in the field and being tortured. Brad grabbed the handgun and yanked to free it from the holster, his voice painful and horse as an involuntary, guttural shout ripped from his throat.

"Shit!" someone cried out. His arm was locked in a vice-like grip before he could free the handgun completely. He tried to blink away the blur as he reflexively changed plans, reaching his other hand for the combat knife in his vest. He'd barely moved that arm before it too was locked in place by an impossibly strong grip. He bucked, clenching his eyes shut and struggling against his restraints to no avail.

Then, a pair of hands cupped the sides of his face. The grip was firm, but instead of rough fingers they were soft. He felt a tickling sensation across his cheeks and opened his eyes. The most beautiful, angelic face he had ever seen in his life was just inches from his own. Her hair had pooled around his face, blocking everything that wasn't her. Her deep blue eyes stared directly into his and it was only when he noticed her lips moving that he heard her soft, melodic voice.

"Écoute, écoute-moi, ma douce, chut maintenant, tu es en sécurité. Vous êtes en sécurité maintenant et vous n'avez rien à craindre. Je suis ici et je ne laisserai rien t'arriver. Vous êtes en sécurité, nous sommes ici et vous êtes en sécurité."

Her nose brushed against his as she spoke and he couldn't understand a word she said, but the cadence of it soothed him. Relief washed over him in a flood and he relaxed into her grip. Distantly, he was aware of tugging sensations as he was disarmed and his vest was stripped off of him. He didn't care, couldn't care. She was here.

Brad didn't know how long he stayed in the hospital bed. Whenever he woke, his entire body felt like it had been lit on fire. Then, he always felt a cooling relief that tingled rapidly from his hand and through the rest of his body. It made things manageable.

He remembered little snapshots of things that happened while he was out. He remembered Madam Pomfrey trying to get Fleur to leave.

"I will leave when 'e is awake and asks me to!" she had screeched in reply. It was dark in the hospital room and he had the sense that visiting hours were over. He could clearly see the medical witch look to the nearby sentires for assistance, neither of which moved in support.

He remembered seeing Harry, Ron and Hermione visit. Hermione had taken his other hand, the one Fleur wasn't currently holding, and she said something to him. He couldn't remember what she said, but he was glad to see the three of them safe.

Jason and Eric had come to see him too. He didn't remember their words either, but he had the impression that they'd been bullshitting with him. He remembered laughing at one point, or at least the weak facsimile that he was capable of.

More than anything, he remembered her. Every time he woke up, she was there, holding his hand. If he stirred in pain, she was right there to help. If he was thirsty, she was ready with a glass of water. She was patient with him as he struggled to eat, and she never left his side during the hours and hours he slept.

He even seemed to remember her arguing with her father about it. He'd said something about how she needed rest, she needed to go to her bed and sleep. A part of him wanted to side with Fleur as she argued, firm and resolute. A greater part of him, the part that could recognize just how tired she looked, wanted to tell her to listen to her father.

Try as he might, however, he couldn't get his voice to work. He fell back asleep as Apolline kissed him on the forehead and told Henri that it was useless to argue the point.

Finally, Brad opened his eyes and felt a clarity that he hadn't in...he didn't actually know how long. It had definitely been a while. The first thing he noticed was how his hand was being held. His head felt heavy and the muscles from his neck, to his shoulders and down his back, burned in protest, but he managed to lift his head so he could look over.

Fleur was beside him, holding his hand and using her other arm for a pillow while she slept. She looked so incredibly peaceful that he couldn't bring himself to interrupt her.

The second thing he noticed was how distractingly thirsty he was. His throat felt dry, almost to the point of being painful. He looked the other direction and saw a glass of water, looking crisp and inviting. He had barely moved his arm to reach for it when Fleur shot bolt upright, looking confused for a moment.

"Well, hello," she smiled at him, all signs of weariness vanishing instantly. She stood up, never letting go of his hand, and reached over him to grab the glass of water.

He opened his mouth to argue, but, with a practiced hand, she let go of his hand to hold his head up while she put the glass to his lips. He was too thirsty at that point to allow his modesty to take over, and instead enjoyed the cool liquid placating his throat. She spoke to someone at the door while he drank but he was too distracted by the relief of water to listen.

"I could have done that," Brad said, returning her smile as she set the glass back down.

"I'm sure you could have," she replied, planting a soft kiss on his forehead as she sat back down beside him, slipping her hand back into his and squeezing it. Brad let his head, which felt even heavier than before, collapse back into the pillow. He couldn't help a wince at the wave of pain that pulsed through him from his neck to his extremities and back.

"How long?" Brad asked after allowing himself a moment to recover.

"A week," Fleur replied, and Brad saw a hint of the exhaustion cross her features. She glanced up as heavy bootsteps entered the room. Brad forced himself to look away and saw Colonel Sumner enter, followed closely by Dumbledore.

"How you doin' son?" Sumner asked, eyeing him carefully.

"I'm alive, sir," Brad replied, feeling grateful for it. He'd felt certain that he wouldn't leave that graveyard. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure how he got out. He pushed the question aside for now. "Sitrep?"

"Good to have you back," Sumner replied, and he relaxed visibly. "Potter is safe, you accomplished your mission, captain." Brad sensed a 'but.'

"Sir?" he asked when the colonel paused.

"I don't want to hit you with everything upfront, but Sgt. Matthews and an unknown assailant are missing. It doesn't look good." Sumner watched Brad closely for a reaction. Brad tried to sit forward but his muscles simply didn't obey, the nerve bundles instead punishing him for the attempt. "Careful, son-"

"What the hell happened?" Brad asked a little more forcefully than he'd meant to.

"The sergeant went back to the castle to get one of the elves to assist in your extraction from the graveyard," Sumner said, answering his unasked question. "He obviously made it to the elves, Dobby got you and brought you back here immediately. We haven't seen him since."

"We also found the real Professor Moody, locked in a trunk inside his office," Dumbledore chimed in for the first time. It took Brad a full second to realize what the headmaster had said, his demeanor was so calm. The real professor.

"What do you-" Brad started, but Sumner continued over him, already knowing the question.

"The real Moody said he hasn't taught at all this year. Whoever we have been interacting with was a fake, and we think he nabbed Mike on his way out." Sumner's eyes were hard. He was having as tough a time swallowing that pill as Brad was.

Through that lens, Brad remembered several other things that he hadn't thought to pair together until he placed Moody in the "enemy" category in his mind. The strange man following Harry and himself at the Quidditch World Cup jumped to the front of his mind. And Snape had reported missing ingredients from his personal stocks several times. He'd need to check to be certain, but he was willing to bet it was stuff for a shape-shifting formula or something.

"Fuck," Brad finally said, pissed at his inability to sit up or move without every nerve in his body going nuclear. He felt surprised at how quickly the comfort flooded him when Fleur began running her hand up and down his arm in gentle motions.

"Stay here and recover, captain," Sumner ordered. "I'll check in later." The colonel turned on a heel and exited. Dumbledore remained for a moment longer.

"What you have endured is a great burden, captain," the headmaster said solemnly. "You undoubtedly saved Mr. Potter from an early death. I believe that the Dark Lord has once again risen, but you have saved our best hope against him. You have done a tremendous service to the wizarding world." Dumbledore turned and left, evidently having said his piece.

It took Brad another several weeks before he could get up and move around without his muscles either burning or seizing up completely. Madam Pomfrey had called it "ghost pains" and said that it stemmed from his nerves being exposed to the Cruciatus curse for so long.

This morning, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he got himself dressed. It was an affair that took him almost twice as long as it should have, but he managed it.

Presently, he was standing in Colonel Sumner's office. He had escorted Fleur to her carriage, slowly, for what had to be some of the most deserved rest in modern history. A Humvee brought him the rest of the way to the FOB.

The door opened and Brad snapped to attention, managing to stay upright through the wave of dizziness that struck him. "As you were, son," Sumner gestured to one of the chairs as he himself sat down at his desk.

"Thank you, sir," Brad said out of habit, though this time he really meant it. Standing had turned to hard work recently.

"I've got news that isn't going to be easy, so I'm cutting straight to it," Sumner said. "It's been almost a month since Sgt. Matthews disappeared and we have had zero sign that he is still out there."

"Sir, you can't be-" Brad started, but the colonel kept talking and Brad had to shut up to hear everything else.

"This decision was made above me, but the United States Army is officially declaring Sgt. Matthews MIA/Presumed KIA." The silence stretched on as Sumner allowed Brad a moment to digest that. "His belongings are being turned over to you, both as his commanding officer and his friend."

"The fuck he's dead," Brad said finally, mustering all of the strength he could manage to stand halfway up and point in the general direction of the world beyond Sumner's office, "Mike is out there somewhere!"

"I would advise taking care of his belongings soon, captain. I'm not done," Sumner replied. Brad stood there for a moment, staring daggers into the colonel's eyes as though it could change his mind. Finally, he collapsed into the chair again.

"Sir," Brad said with a little more contempt leaking into his voice than he'd intended. The colonel didn't react, though.

"I'm also relieving you of command of Reaper team for the foreseeable future," Sumner said, his expression not changing. Brad didn't have the energy to fully react. He just raised an eyebrow and collapsed back into the chair. "You're being reassigned as a liaison to the 2nd Foreign Infantry Regiment out of Nîmes. You'll be helping the French get their Ansible program up and running, at least for the duration of the summer."

"Understood," was all Brad could say in response. Sure, it sounded like a regular assignment, but he felt like he was being benched. He couldn't keep himself from being tortured, couldn't keep his team safe, and so he lost them.

"Nîmes is less than half-an-hour from Château Delacour, captain," Sumner said, leaning forward. For the first time he had some level of concern etched on his face. "The Delacour's have offered to house you for the duration of your assignment. I won't order you to take them up on it. I won't say it as your commanding officer, but as someone who cares about you, take them up on it."

Brad couldn't reply for several moments. His head was spinning from everything. Finally, he managed to reply. "Yes, sir."

Brad stood there for probably half an hour, staring at Mike's locker. Trying to will himself to open it. It felt like giving up on his friend, though. He refused to believe the operator was dead, but life had to go on.

He had procrastinated it all day and now only had a couple hours to get Mike's belongings squared away. He still had to gather his own belongings for the trip to France. If he didn't think about Mike being missing, losing his team, and likely missing the huge possible fight that was brewing, he found that he looked forward to spending some time with the Delacours. The other stuff made it seem a lot more bitter than sweet, though.

"A'right," Brad muttered to himself, pulling the locker open. There wasn't much inside it. An enchanted picture of Hermione and himself laughing, sitting at a picnic near the lake. Several sets of uniforms, his plate carrier and rifle, and assorted other gear, all of which would be returned to the armorer.

The only other personal item he found was a small, ancient looking box and a letter underneath it. He didn't have to look to see that it was for Hermione. It was, as he so eloquently put it, his "well, shit, I died" letter. It was something all of them wrote and did their best to forget about. He could only assume the box was for her too.

Brad had to take his time and make a few trips to get the gear and equipment to the Armory, but he wasn't willing to ask someone to assist either. His muscles still protested almost every movement and sometimes, randomly, he would be wracked with an immense, body-wide pain that nearly dropped him to his knees, which then disappeared as quickly as it came.

Madam Pomfrey told him that she thought the effect would eventually cease, though she had no idea when. The only other known cases of extended torture via the Cruciatus curse were both non-verbal and insane. Not a lot of help.

Finally, he was left with a S.P.E.W. patch, the picture, the letter and the box. He was certain Mike would want Hermione to have all of it, and so spent the next twenty minutes working his way up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, where he found Hermione sitting and staring out the window.

She had been very quiet lately and both Harry and Ron had mentioned concerns that she was in a dark place. Brad hoped that whatever Mike wrote would give her some level of comfort.

"Ah," Brad cried out involuntarily as a quick wave of pain washed over him. Hermione turned to see him standing back up and smiled. The smile vanished when she saw Mike's belongings.

"He isn't dead," she said, now scowling at him. She sat up straight, prepared for argument.

"I know," Brad replied and it deflated her a bit. "But the Army is making the call...he would want you to have these." Brad extended the items to her and she didn't move to take them. It was only a short time and he hated that his arm started to dip, as though what he was offering was some kind of heavy load.

He wasn't sure if she did it out of pity for his weakening arm or if curiosity got the better of her, but she finally took them. Brad turned and left, letting her have her privacy. He needed to get prepped for the Floo trip, anyway.

Hermione sat there and stared at the photo for a long time. It was from one of their first picnic dates. It was also the date where she went from thinking of Mike as a really fun moment in her life, to someone she couldn't picture herself without.

There wasn't anything special about the date, not that she could recall, anyway. They were sitting there with a spread of fruits and some bread, which she later learned that the Weasley twins had obtained from the house elves, and laughing about something.

She tried to, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what he had said. Just how he seemed to always make her laugh. Her revelation came in an instant.

In her mind, she could picture herself on a patio chair somewhere, wrinkled and old, laughing just the same as she was then at something Mike said. He was right there alongside her and it felt right.

Only, now he wasn't here. She didn't know where he was, but it wasn't here with her. She sighed, setting the picture aside before she could tear up again. She had been doing that a lot, lately. She decided to save the envelope for last, picking up the old box instead.

Her mouth fell open when she opened it. She truly hadn't had any idea what could be in the box, but one of the last things she could have imagined was a ring. It was incredible.

A small, delicate silver band with a perfectly sized, ornate gemstone in the center. Even as she watched, swirling bands of green and blue danced around the stone, and the center of the of it was a deep crimson circle.

She tested it and the ring fit perfectly on her finger. Sliding it off, she noticed a small inscription on the inside...in Ancient Runes! She needed to get her book out to translate it. Her heart hammered for several seconds before she realized that he was still gone. Holding it for a second longer, she slipped it back onto her finger.

Hermione spent the next minute or so examining the ring on her finger from every angle and decided it looked perfect. She moved on and opened the letter.

Hermione,

I have been having a really tough time figuring out how to give this to you, and if all goes according to plan, I'll burn this dumb letter before you ever read it. It's a special ring, the gem is called a Lifestone, and because I know you so well, I won't say another word about it. You'll know more about it than me by the end of whatever day it is, if you read this, and you'll enjoy every moment of figuring it out.

Hermione, the fact of the matter is, I am absolutely, unequivocally, and without reservation, in love with you. I have been for a long time now, and I wanted to get you a promise ring, something you could wear, and feel and look at, just in case you couldn't remember when I'm not around to say it.

It's a long story and I look forward to hopefully laughing about it with you someday, but I had to get the stone shipped in to a specialty jeweler in London (you'll figure out why later tonight/tomorrow morning, or a few hours after reading this, anyway). The only time I could get to go to London and pick it up was, of course, Valentines Day.

I can't tell you how much I regret trying to slip that one past you. I figured I could use the orders are orders trope and keep on going. I know you better than that and should have figured you'd catch me. For that I am sorry.

I didn't give you the ring sooner because I didn't want to say I love you for the first time right after the fight. I didn't want it to seem like I was giving this to you because I felt bad. I'm giving it to you because you make me feel good, and I intend to keep you around for a long time.

Just in case you didn't catch it earlier, I love you. You probably won't need to read this anyways, and army intelligence stands a solid chance of trying to recover this to see if I am selling state secrets or something. If that's the case, fuck you guys and you'll never find my offshore accounts!

Love,

Mike