WASHINGTON D.C

Pain. Dull and throbbing. It was the only thing I could comprehend when I was able to pull myself out of the darkness. Everything hurt. My body began to tremble from the pain and each tremor sent a new wave of pain through my body as it hit cold sheets.

That was something else I could feel...cold. All over my body, underneath the thin sheets and where I was overtop of them as well. I couldn't stop shivering, each time I shivered all I could feel were more agonizing moments of pain. How did I get myself into this?

As soon as I remembered how, I opened my eyes in alarm. What place could be so cold, so painful, and so bright? Even underneath my eyelids it was bright, neon red and when I opened them it was blinding white. Pure white, there was no hint of yellow or orange. It made me wince and cry out in shock.

Then I heard a strangely familiar sound, and yet I still couldn't place it. A familiar sound of some sort of squeaking?

Rhythmic, growing faster and faster...

A door clicked to my left, my head snapped towards it and I saw the door had closed.

My eyes were blurred, but I looked around, searching for someone. Anyone.

A dark figure sat in a chair on the right, and I waited for my eyes to adjust.

It was dead quiet, apart from the rhythmic beeping.

I looked around the whitewash room, and it was just me in a bed, and someone sleeping in the chair by the window. I couldn't make out who it was. Their arms were crossed, and head bowed. My eyes were blurred, and I decided I wanted out.

I threw the blanket off and dangled my legs off the side of the bed, as quietly as possible to not wake up the stranger. I slipped off the side of the bed, but my legs couldn't carry me.

Instead, they crumbled from under me and I slammed into the floor.

The figure sat up, and leaned toward me.

"Hey." He said, a smooth voice.

I squinted against the brightness, trying to make out his face.

And then the dull pain took over. I tried to sit up, uncomfortable in the half upright position I was in.

"You might wanna take it slower," the voice croaked. This voice was vaguely familiar.

The hospital gown felt like paper against my skin, and I didn't like it.

The pain wasn't subsiding.

"It's okay, I'm just a little sore." I answered, and by the time I made myself comfortable, on the floor I recognised that it was Colonel Rick Flag in the chair beside me. "Oh hey, Boss."

He stared at me blankly as I held my head.

"It's weird, I thought I was going to wake up in pieces."

Flag didn't say anything.

I began to remember a man who had taken on the role as my more present brother, who'd accepted me as I was and encouraged my recklessness which became my success. His face was suddenly everywhere, and made that memory more vivid. More memories flooded back, being in the desert, running toward a bloodied Kowalski…

Then I remembered the blast, and I gasped. "Kowalski?"

Flag's eyes fell away from my face, and he was silent.

Why didn't he answer?

I gasped, shaking my head.

"Kowalski, he didn't-" he began.

"No, no… you said he was alright, you told me not to worry about him, you said he was fine," I was surprised by how calm and reasonable my voice sounded.

It must be because I was so numb. I couldn't realize what he was telling me. It still didn't make any sense.

Was Kowalski hurt as badly than I was? Or was he worse? Why did Flag tell me that he was okay if he wasn't?

I tried to get control of myself, to reason with myself.

What's the worst that can happen? I flinched. That was definitely the wrong question to ask.

I was having a hard time breathing right.

Okay, I thought again, what's the worst I can live through? I didn't like that question so much, either. But I thought through the possibilities I'd considered already.

"He didn't make it." Flag said in an unemotional voice, each word separate and distinct.

I shook my head back and forth mechanically, trying to clear it. He waited without any sign of impatience. It took a few minutes before I could speak.

I didn't answer. I couldn't think of a way to protest, but I instantly knew that I wanted to. I didn't like this. This is bad, this is very bad, the voice in my head repeated again and again.

But he didn't wait for an answer.

I stared at him, trying to understand what he meant.

He stared back coldly.

With a roll of nausea, I realized I'd heard him right.

He opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't." My voice was just a whisper now; awareness was beginning to seep through me, trickling like acid through my veins. "Don't say that." I shouted, furious, the words exploding out of me–somehow it still sounded like a plea.

He just stared at me, and I could see from his eyes that my words were far too late. He already had.

I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He waited patiently, his face wiped clean of all emotion.

I tried again. "You lied to me." I wonder what he saw on my face, because something flickered across his own face in response.

But, before I could identify it, he'd composed his features into the same serene mask.

He took a deep breath and stared, unseeingly, at the ground for a long moment. His mouth twisted the tiniest bit. When he finally looked up, his eyes were different, harder–like they had frozen solid. "You were dying, and there wasn't anything you could have done." He said defensively.

My whole body went numb. I couldn't feel anything below the neck.

"He's dead. It's all my fault!" I shouted, trying to grab the bed rail to pull myself up, but my shoulder gave back a sting of searing hot pain. "Wha-!" I looked down at my left arm, and it was in a thick cast. "What the fuck?" I flashed a glare at Flag, who held up his hand in protest.

"So, about the arm," he started.

"I've been unconscious for ten fucking minutes and they've put me in this thing? How am I meant to operate a gun?" I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

"It was either that, or lose the arm."

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I stared at him angrily.

He rubbed the side of his face, irritated. "You can use it to bash my face in if you want." He looked away, embarrassed. "Give me the Chapman family bulk deal."

"Don't tempt me." I clenched my fist.

"I'm sorry, Jaz. We did everything we could to save him." He said quietly. His green eyes watched me intensely.

I was staring blankly at him. It wasn't fair. I began gathering my thoughts slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up.

For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts.

I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency. I looked at him, pleading with him hoping this was a dream and everything he said was untrue.

As I watched, his frozen eyes melted. The green became liquid, molten, burning down into mine with an intensity that was overwhelming.

I could hear the blood pounding faster than normal behind my ears.

"Andy came to see you." His voice sounded farther away. He smiled gently. "He's glad you're okay."

"He hit you?" It sounded like there was something stuck in my throat, like I was choking.

"Well, I deserved his weak punches." He smiled; the smile was tranquil and it did not touch his eyes. "That's everything, I suppose."

The plural caught my attention. That surprised me; I would have thought I was beyond noticing anything.

"Mike's gone," I realized. I don't know how he heard me–the words made no sound–but he seemed to understand.

He nodded his head slowly, always watching my face. "No. The boys are too upset to visit, so I stayed to tell you the bad news."

"Mike is gone..." My voice was blank with disbelief. I was dizzy; it was hard to concentrate. Flag's words swirled around in my head, and it made perfect sense but I didn't want to believe any of it.

My heart fell through my stomach and suddenly I couldn't breathe.

I tried to breathe normally. I needed to concentrate, to find a way out of this nightmare.

But every time I blinked, I was still here, sitting on the cold hospital floor.

"N-n-no," I started to cry, a small hopeless sound in the stillness.

For a moment he went on staring at me. Then he closed the small gap between us and flung his arms around me.

I tried to shrug off his heavy arms, but I wasn't nearly strong enough. I felt a trickle of tears smeared onto the side of my face, as he tried to keep me still as I became a ball of sobbing mess.

He pulled my head onto his lap and held my face to his thigh as I tried to fight him off.

"Hey-hey it's okay, it's not your fault," he mumbled. "It's not okay? No one is blaming you."

As I lay there, I had a feeling that more time was passing than I realized. I couldn't remember how long it had been since I woke up.

"My best friend… my brother!" I choked. I tried to picture my life without Kowalski, but I couldn't. We were immortals before Afghanistan.

"Shh, it's okay, it's not your fault. Be still before you hurt yourself!"

"Get off me!" I screamed, trying wrestle free, but Flag's arms were like iron bars, and wouldn't release me. I wanted nothing more than to run away as fast as I could...

I tried to muffle the hysterics that my screams were building into.

More memories flooded back, chasing Ghani, gun shots from behind me, the blast… I wanted to beg for someone to kill me now, before I lived one more second in this pain. But I couldn't move my lips. My heart fell through my stomach and suddenly I couldn't breathe.

Flag put one hand on my head, stroking the stray hair from my face as I lay there, sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't say anything as I struggled to control myself, but it was as though I wasn't able to flick the switch.

I wanted Kowalski. I wanted Andy. Anyone but Flag.

The energy was draining from me so quickly, my screaming quickly turned into weak whimpers.

"Shhh," Flag cooed, stroking my head gently. "It's okay. There was nothing you could have done."

I began to shiver from the cold floor, despite Flag's warmth underneath me.

"It should've been me," I croaked.

"Come on," a soft grunt came from his chest as he lifted me off the floor and put me back into the hospital bed. He even pulled the blanket back over me. "You need to rest."

I remained a sniffling mess as I curled into a ball and turned away from him. Was this how I wanted Flag to remember the once strong, unbothered female Tier One?

"I'm sorry," I mumbled sleepily.

Flag didn't respond; instead, he sat back in the chair.

It seemed like a long time until the door opened, and someone snuck in quietly.

"Hey, Doc," Flag murmured. "She's gone back to sleep."

"It seems the shock and anger forced her to use up all of her energy stores," the doctor replied in a gruff voice. "But she will be fine. Vitals are good."

"I should leave. She knows everything now, but her next of kin won't be returning." Flag said.

The doctor moved from his place beside me. "You should stay, Sir. A trauma like this requires company. I can excuse you from duty if need be."

"I'm not the one she wants here," Flag grumbled.

"But you are the person that is here. Stay."

The weeks that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the centre of attention for the rest of that week. Danny Hayes was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow.

I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it — especially since he didn't actually have anything to do with what happened — but he remained insistent.

He followed me between tasks and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Taylor and Spenser were even less friendly toward him than they were to each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan.

No one seemed concerned about Flag, though I explained over and over that he was the hero — how he had pulled me out of the debris and had saved me from bleeding to death, too.

Flag was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his firsthand account. People avoided him as usual.

I walked around in a stupor, not bothering to go to the gym or do any kind of target practice while the Alpha Dogs did- I just slept. But each time I woke, Kowalski was still gone.

While I drove, I worried a little bit about Andy's reaction to seeing me.

He would be too pleased. In Andy's mind, no doubt, this had all worked out better than he had dared to hope.

His pleasure and relief would only remind me of the one I couldn't bear to be reminded of.

Not again today, I pleaded silently. I was spent.

Andy's house was vaguely familiar, a small wooden place with narrow windows, the dull red paint making it resemble a tiny barn. Andy's head peered out of the window before I could even get out of the truck.

He met me halfway to the house.

"Jaz!" His excited grin stretched wide across his face, the bright teeth standing in vivid contrast to the copper colour of his skin. I'd never seen his hair out of its usual cropped cut before. It fell in black satin wisps on either side of his broad face.

Andy had grown into some of his potential in the last eight years. He'd passed that point where the soft muscles of childhood hardened into the solid, lanky build of a man; the tendons and veins had become prominent under the red-brown skin of his arms, his hands.

His face was still sweet like I remembered it, though it had hardened, too–the planes of his cheekbones sharper, his jaw squared off, all childish roundness gone.

"Hey, Andy!" I felt an unfamiliar surge of enthusiasm at his smile. I realized that I was pleased to see him. This knowledge surprised me.

I smiled back, and something clicked silently into place, like two corresponding puzzle pieces. I'd forgotten how much I really missed Andy.

He stopped a few feet away from me, and I stared up at him in surprise, leaning my head back though the rain pelted my face.

"You grew again!" I accused in amazement. I had forgotten how tall he really was since I had seen him eight years ago.

The military were well known for keeping families apart for long periods of time-even more so when both members were enlisted.

He laughed, his smile widening impossibly. "Six foot," he announced with self-satisfaction.

His voice was deeper, but it had the husky tone I remembered.

"Is it ever going to stop?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You're huge."

"Still a beanpole, though." He grimaced. "Come inside! You're getting all wet."

He led the way tousling his hair in his big hands as he walked.

"Hey, Craig," he called as he ducked to get through the front door. "Look who stopped by."

Andy's best friend Brian Craig, also a marine, was in the tiny square living room, a book in his hands. He set the book in his seat and launched himself forward when he saw me.

"Well, what do you know! It's good to see you, Jaz. I've heard a lot about you."

We shook hands. Mine was lost in his wide grasp.

"What brings you out here? Everything okay with work?"

"Yes, absolutely. I just wanted to see Andy–I haven't seen him in forever."

Andy's eyes brightened at my words. He was smiling so big it looked like it would hurt his cheeks.

"Can you stay for dinner?" Craig was eager, too.

"No, I've got to get back to work, you know."

"Oh." His face fell.

I laughed to hide my discomfort. "It's not like you'll never see me again. I promise I'll be back again soon–so much you'll get sick of me."

Craig chuckled in response. "Okay, maybe next time."

"So, Jaz, what do you want to do?" Andy asked.

"Whatever. What were you doing before I interrupted?" I was strangely comfortable here. It was familiar, but only distantly. There were no painful reminders of the recent past.

Andy hesitated. "I was just heading out to work on my bike, but we can do something else…"

"No, that's perfect!" I interrupted. "I'd love to see your bike."

"Okay," he said, not convinced. "It's out back, in the garage."

Even better, I thought to myself. I waved at Craig. "See you later."

A thick stand of trees and shrubbery concealed his garage from the house. The garage was no more than a couple of big preformed sheds that had been bolted together with their interior walls knocked out. Under this shelter, raised on cinder blocks, was what looked to me like a completed motorcycle. I recognized the symbol on the tank, at least.

"What kind of Norton is that?" I asked.

"It's an old Atlas. 1967, a classic."

"How's it going?"

"Almost finished," he said cheerfully. And then his voice dropped into a lower key. "So how have you been since-"

"Terrible, to tell you the truth."

"So bad you had to come see me?"

I nodded. "I knew you had the next six weeks off, so, of course. It was about time we caught up."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Kowalski."

"Aha," I said.

He seemed to understand my reluctance to open the subject. I tried not to remember the last op.

It turned out that his concern was, in the end, unnecessary. I was all too safe now.

"I'm sorry it took me so long, actually."

Andy was wiping the shiny chromed wheel arch with his sleeve, trying not to pay too much attention. "It's fine. I get it. What I don't understand, is why I can't visit you at the base when I'm there anyway?"

"Well…" I pursed my lips as I considered. I wasn't sure if he could keep his mouth shut, but I didn't have many other options. "I joined a DEVGRU team. That's why. You're not even supposed to know. Honestly, Colonel'd probably bust a vein in his forehead if he knew about this. So you can't tell Craig or Dad."

"I understand." This offended him. "I wish you'd told me earlier. The only way we can see each other is off base. But you knew what you signed up for, Jaz. What did you expect to happen?"

"I wasn't supposed to see him die, let alone be alive when he did."

"You feel guilty."

I bit my lip, embarrassed. "It was my fault, he took my flank to catch Ghani," I admitted.

Andy's jaw flexed, and his brows pulled together. "So are you avoiding your team, or actually wanting to see me?"

"This is hardly the place, Andy. Could we discuss this later?"

Andy snorted. "What's wrong with now?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Kowalski promised he would look after you. It was a fluke you both got on the same unit. What were you even doing joining a team like the DEVGRU's anyway? You're going to get killed."

He made it sound so inevitable. I shuddered.

"Andy, it doesn't have to be that way."

His teeth ground together. "It is that way."

The silence after his declaration felt very loud.

"You can't see past that, can you?" I whispered. As soon as I said the words, I wished I hadn't. I didn't want to hear his answer.

"You won't be my little sister anymore," he told me. "Jaz won't exist. There'll be no one to forgive."

We faced each other for an endless moment.

The tension between Andy and I continued to bubble over as we stood there, not really sure what else we could say to one another that wouldn't be make it more uncomfortable than everything already was. I felt strangely lost and hurt as I thought of the last time that we had seen one another.

"Is this goodbye then?"

He blinked rapidly, his fierce expression melting in surprise. "You're on the most dangerous Special Forces team in the world, and you think you won't die?"

"I don't think of it that way. I'm saving people, it's what I do. I can't imagine it would get any better than that."

"Will you ever stop?!"

I was not expecting his reaction.

He was suddenly on his feet, and he glared at me wildly.

I froze in place, too shocked to remember how to move.

And then Andy gritted his teeth together, and he squeezed his eyes tight in concentration. "You're in a hurry to die," he said in a flat monotone.

I couldn't respond; I was still frozen.

He opened his eyes. They were beyond fury now. "Like Kowalski?" Andy hissed through his teeth.

Too stunned to take offense at his words, I just shrugged.

His face turned green under the russet skin.

"I'm sorry, Andy. I was invited, and I passed. I took the job. It's what I want." I whispered after a long minute of silence. "I need to make it up Kowalski, prove it wasn't a bad call. I'll do it, and succeed, for him. What else can I do?"

I'd meant that as a rhetorical question.

His words cracked like snaps of a whip. "Anything. Anything else. You failed Kowalski, and you failed me. You won't quit, then I don't have a sister anymore."

I recoiled like he'd slapped me. It hurt worse than if he had.

And then, as the pain shot through me, my own temper burst into flame.

"Maybe you'll get lucky," I said bleakly, lurching to my feet. "Maybe I'll get hit by a truck on my way back." I stormed out of the garage and climbed back in my truck, revving the engine unnecessarily before I drove away.

I wasn't paying attention to where I was driving–just wandering through empty, wet side roads as I avoided the ways that would take me back to the base–because I didn't have anywhere to go.

I wished I could feel numb again, but I couldn't remember how I'd managed it before. The memory of the blast was nagging at my mind and making me think about things that would cause me pain.

I didn't want to remember the desert. Even as I shuddered away from the images, I felt my eyes fill with tears and the aching begin around the edges of the hole in my chest. I took one hand from the steering wheel and wrapped it around my torso to hold it in one piece.

Target Secure. On our way to you...

They were just words, soundless, like print on a page. Just words, but they ripped the hole wide open, and I stomped on the brake, knowing I should not drive while this incapacitated.

I curled over, pressing my face against the steering wheel and trying to breathe without lungs.

But what if this hole never got any better? If the raw edges never healed? If the damage was permanent and irreversible?

I held myself tightly together.

I thumped my head against the steering wheel, trying to distract myself from the sharper pain.

It made me feel silly for ever worrying about what Andy would think about me joining the Tier Ones. Who cared if I was reckless and stupid? There was no reason to avoid recklessness, no reason why I shouldn't get to be stupid.

I laughed humourlessly to myself, still gasping for air. A reckless DEVGRU operator. Now that was a desperate suggestion.

Andy wanted me to stay behind and be a good soldier, follow the rules like everyone else. But now I had entered a new kind of family that wanted me to succeed.

The Marine Corps hadn't always been so harmless, but now it was exactly what it had always appeared to me. It was dull, it was safe.

I stared out the windshield for a long moment, my thoughts moving sluggishly–I couldn't seem to make those thoughts go anywhere. I cut the engine, which was groaning in a pitiful way after idling for so long, and stepped out into the drizzle.

That evening Colonel Rick Flag and Danny Hayes were kind enough to take me to the military cemetery off base, since I missed the service. I didn't say anything the entire time we were in Flag's Navigator, but Flag was more than happy to share with me while Hayes went to visit someone else buried there. He watched from a distance though, cautious. Maybe he thought I was going to lose it, and preferred to be at a safe distance.

Flag was blabbering on and on about the service I had missed while in hospital, perhaps he though the details of his memorial in Arlington would make me feel better. It didn't. Instead, his words blurred into a murmuring noise as I concentrated on trying to maintain my stable composure.

But there it was, in the evening darkness. A giant concrete kick to the stomach.

Until now, it felt like he was just gone away, like on leave. But here was the tangible proof.

It read:

Michael Brian Kowalski

LT

Naval Special Warfare Development Group

Alpha Team

APR 15, 1989 - MAR 30, 2018

"I'm sorry, Colonel." My apology sounded a little flat, even to me. I'd thought I'd been fooling him.

Keeping the others from suffering was the whole point of all this effort. How depressing to think that the effort had been wasted.

"I don't want you to apologise."

I sighed. "Then tell me what you do want me to do."

"Jaz," he hesitated, scrutinizing my reaction to his next words. "Major, you're not the first person to go through this kind of thing, you know."

"I know that." My accompanying grimace was limp and unimpressive.

"Listen, Jaz. I think that–that maybe you need some help."

"Help?"

He paused, searching for the words again. "When my unit died," he began, frowning, "It near killed me." He inhaled deeply. "Well, that was a really bad time for me."

"I know, Flag," I mumbled.

"But I handled it," he pointed out. "Honey, you're not handling it. I waited, I hoped it would get better." He stared at me and I looked down quickly. "I think we both know it's not getting better."

"I'm fine."

He ignored me. "Maybe, well, maybe if you talked to someone about it. A professional."

"You want me to see a shrink?" My voice was a shade sharper as I realized what he was getting at.

"Maybe it would help."

"And maybe it wouldn't help one little bit." I didn't know much about psychoanalysis, but I was pretty sure that it didn't work unless the subject was relatively honest. Sure, I could tell the truth–if I wanted to spend the rest of my life in a padded cell.

Flag examined my obstinate expression, and switched to another line of attack. "So talk to me then."

"Look," I said in a flat voice. "I'll go out tonight, if you want. I'll call Nicole."

"That's not what I want," he argued, frustrated. "I don't think I can live through seeing you try harder. I've never seen anyone trying so hard. It hurts to watch."

I pretended to be dense, looking down at the headstone. "I don't understand, Sir."

"I want you to be happy–no, not even that much. I just want you not to be miserable. I think you'll have a better chance if you went home for a few days. It worked for me."

My eyes flashed up with the first small spark of feeling I'd had in too long to contemplate. "I'm not leaving," I said.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"My brother wants nothing to do with me." I snapped.

Flag fell silent, but inched closer, his jacket almost touching my arm. "Well, spend more time with your other family."

I scoffed. "You mean Alpha Dogs?"

"Yeah. I think they miss you." He said quickly. "You have me, too. You helped me after the last two men died."

"It's not the same, Flag. Kowalski was all I had. Andy is always working and my father- he's the biggest disappointment."

"Maybe you can reach out to him." Flag suggested, a miniscule smile on his lips.

I sighed and looked back at him, skeptical. "Maybe."

"Hey, I did. Cleared my head. And you know, you should take the advice you gave me. Don't be so hard on yourself." He put a heavy hand on my shoulder. "I'll give you a minute." He left me there, and joined Hayes. I assumed it was the burial site of Steve, the man I replaced.

Once I was confident they were in a deep conversation, I knelt before the headstone a few minutes later, resigned as the pain finally made its appearance.

It was a crippling thing, this sensation that a huge hole had been punched through my chest, excising my most vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time.

Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air and my head spun like my efforts yielded me nothing.

My heart must have been beating, too, but I couldn't hear the sound of my pulse in my ears; my hands felt blue with cold. I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together. I scrambled for numbness, my denial, but it evaded me.

And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain–the aching loss that radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head–but it was manageable.

I could live through it. It didn't feel like the pain had weakened over time rather that I'd grown strong enough to bear it.

Whatever it was that Flag said, it had affected me.

"I'm so sorry, Mike. It's my fault. I shouldn't have gone out there. I should have told you to stay behind…. I'm so sorry, brother." I fought back tears, but my voice wavered, and my throat got dry. I closed my eyes, and remembered his bloodied face as he lay in the sand against the hill, telling me to go and get Ghani. Even as I shivered away from the images, I felt my eyes fill with tears. As hard as I tried, I let them go, and wiped them away with the back of my hand quickly. "I miss you," I whispered. I remembered I had printed off a photo of us together during a Bravo mission in basic, and reached for it in my pocket. I gazed at it for a long time, my heart tugging at the dimpled smile on Kowalski's face.

I wondered how long this could last. Maybe someday, years from now–if the pain would just decrease to the point where I could bear it–I would be able to look back on those several short years that would always be the best of my life. And, if it were possible that the pain would ever soften enough to allow me to do that, I was sure that I would feel grateful for as much time as he'd given me.

More than I'd asked for, more than I'd deserved. Maybe someday I'd be able to see it that way.

I wiped the remaining tears away, and stood up, sighing. "Goodbye, Kowalski. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Watch over Andy for me."

My eyes flashed up to see Hayes and Flag talking to a young woman, much younger than me. She was blonde, and laughing, touching Flag's arm lightly.

But Flag wasn't bothered by her, he was watching me.

She said something to Flag. The coy smile was still in place, but he wasn't looking at her, and she left dissatisfied.

My eyes fell back down to the photograph, and I placed it down on the base of the headstone gently.

Flag strode to me, head tilted down and he shoved his hands into his jeans.

"You okay?" He must have seen I had been crying.

"Yeah, thanks."

He looked down at the photo I left behind. Picking it up, he smiled at it. "Great photo."

"Nigeria. I'll never forget how happy he was when he found out we were in the top ten." I smiled to myself. "He was more my brother than Andy ever was. He accepted me for who I was, girl and all. My personal hero."

Flag's eyes fell back to the photo. He almost looked sad; if that was his sad face looked like. Flag didn't show a lot of emotion and I wasn't sure if he knew how.

"Kowalski wasn't your hero. You were. He was just your wing man."

I grinned, allowing a heavy sigh escape, and I fought back the tears again. "Yeah, he was."

Flag's eyes ripped away from the photo and back at me. "We're going out tomorrow night, in memory of Kowalski."

"You didn't do it already?" I asked.

"No, I told the others to wait for you to be ready."

I smiled shyly. "Thank you," I breathed. I bit my lip, trying to stop my chin from shaking.

Flag leaned toward me, and put his arm around my shoulder.

I leaned my face on his jacket, and took in a slow, quivering breath. "I'm sorry, you don't need this."

"No, it's good. You're grieving; that's what I should have done a long time ago."

I shook my head, rolling my cheek across his deltoid. "I had no right to say what I did. Nothing hurts like this, and I'm sorry. You were handling it much better than I am now."

Flag grunted, his voice rumbled sending vibrations trough his arm. "It was different. Kowalski was your best friend. It's amplified one hundred times more." His voice was smooth and flawless.

"I'm so sorry to put you through this all again."

Flag chuckled. "Don't worry about me." He smelled amazing. I inhaled, trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn't smell like cologne.

"I'm here whenever you need me." He replied softly.

"I might need you forever then," I said sarcastically. "Kowalski is gone forever."

Flag scoffed. "Forever it is."

We were silent while I composed myself, and I pulled away from his one armed hug.

Flag slowly dropped his hand from around my shoulder. "I overheard you and Ellis yesterday about the supermarkets not having anything you liked. I'll take you to the city market on Saturday. Your truck doesn't look like it will make it."

I shook my head. "It won't. The battery is dead."

Flag hummed. "I'll take you then. I need to get coffee anyway."

He headed back to his Navigator, strolling slowly. He waved the photo at me. "This is going on the wall." He smiled.

"Thanks for being so good to me, Colonel. This must open up old wounds." I said.

"Yeah, well we can suffer in silence, or suffer together. I guess we can't do silence anymore. At least we have that in common."

Hayes was waiting at Flag's Navigator, talking on his phone.

"You know the force supplies coffee," I mocked.

"Well, if you don't want me grumpy and shooting anyone who talks at breakfast, I've got to get the good stuff."

I laughed.

"Look, Jaz, I get it. I get it exactly. I felt responsible for my unit-just as you did Kowalski. And I died with them. I didn't let anyone in, for fear of losing them too, and if I did lose them, it didn't hurt so much. I could tell when I met you that you were the same, but you weren't afraid you'd lose your brother. Like you never thought about it. I've become this rock and I never know if I'll be him forever. I don't even know what Blackburn's going to have me do. I don't know who I am and it scares the hell out of me and I don't know what that makes me. And the last few weeks, you have been me."

I bit my lip to stop it from shaking. Never had I noticed what I was turning into and Flag explained it perfectly. This is what soldiers did to protect their sanity.

Flag noticed my silence. "If it helps, you don't need to hide it from me. Because I know how it feels. I still feel it. But we both don't want to be these monsters that death, guilt and loss have turned us into. We try so hard to save as many people as we can to make up for it. For no one else to feel the pain we do, to see the things we have seen… It's what we do. And I guess, up until you came along on our missions, I never had anyone like you. You get it, because you have already lost. Before Kowalski."

I frowned. "How do you know about that?" I snapped.

Flag shook his head. "I'm your commander, it's my job to know about the people on my team." He scoffed. "And it's okay." His face changed, into a soft and gentle façade. "You were the only to tell me the unit I lost wasn't my fault. And I believed you."

"We're the world's greatest predator," I started. "It comes with a cost, right?"

His lovely eyes seem to glow with rash excitement. Then, as the seconds passed, they dimmed. His expression slowly folded into a mask of ancient sadness. "And this is what we are. What we do. Until we finally decide to stop. But would we stop?" he asked tenderly, reaching out slowly, carefully, to place his giant hand around mine.

I looked at his smooth hand, and then at his eyes. They were soft, repentant. I looked back at his hand, and then deliberately returned to tracing the lines in his hand

with my fingertip. I looked up and smiled timidly. "Maybe not. It's too exciting."

His answering smile was dazzling. "I crave your company too much to do what I should."

I hummed. "And what is that?"

"Walk away." he answered.