Well, I am back from visiting my sister. So, you know, updates might become less frequent again. I'll still hold to once a week, of course, but that's probably all you'll get. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. Anyway, here's the next installment. I hope you all like it!

I slam my fist into the target, feeling the force reverberate up my arm and into my spine. My shoulder throbs where the bruise hasn't healed yet. I ignore the feeling and punch again. My knuckles crack on impact. I ignore the pain, just like I ignore the dream that drove me here, so soon after my talk with Rho.

No matter how hard I try, I can't block out the memories. I can't stop seeing the blood on my hands; can't stop feeling the weight of the small body in my arms. I punch the bag again, listening to the clink of the chain hanging from the ceiling as it sways slowly. I don't know where Tinu found this thing, which she said is called a punching bag. Nick will love it, once he's well enough to train again. It's so old fashioned, so unlike anything I've ever trained with, yet something about it feels good. It's such a solid weight, much more satisfying than punching holograms. I could beat on this thing for hours.

For a moment my mind gets lost in the action. The repetitive pattern of punches and kicks mixes with the sound of my breathing and the chain clanking and the fist connecting with the sand filled bag. For a few seconds, it drowns out the world. Then, as I throw a particularly hard punch, the bag shakes and the chain lets out a louder sound than before. A high pitched ping spreads throughout the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls. In my ears the sound changes, becoming a child's scream and the sound of a gunshot. I stumble back in surprise and fall to my knees, hands clutched to my head to block out the sound.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into the empty room. The sound continues, seeming to grow no quieter with time. "I couldn't stop it. I wasn't fast enough. I'm so sorry, Lico."

I slowly regain my composure, rising to my feet as the echo fades. My eyes turn back to the punching bag and anger boils in my gut; anger at Boron for betraying us, anger at myself for not stopping this, and anger at that stupid bag for reminding me. I spin and kick the thing with the heel of my foot. I start punching and kicking over and over, fury building in me as my eyes blur over with tears. The bag continues to sway gently, unfazed by either the attacks or my anger. I glower at the thing and kick one more time. It slips off the chain and crashes to the ground, splitting open and spilling sand across the floor.

I stare at the bag on the ground. My shoulders shake as I breathe heavily. I try to calm down and settle everything in my mind, but I can't. I can't just come to terms with this. I can't accept that he's just gone.

"Silver," a voice speaks up behind me. Washington. I must be more unfocused than I thought if he managed to come in here without me hearing him.

I make a noise that could either be interpreted as "hello" or "go away". Wash chooses the former.

"Nick's going to be fine," he says after a moment. "Rhodi's got him stabilized and Yttrium is already working on building him a prosthetic. Simmons is helping."

I stand silently and let the words wash over me. That's good. At least Nick won't be added to my list of failures for this week. I feel Wash's eyes on my back. I know he wants me to respond, but I can't. I'm barely holding myself together as it is. If I start talking, I know I'll lose it.

"Si, you need to say something," Wash begs after a moment. He walks up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. "Aside from Rho, you haven't spoken to anyone since-"

"Since what?" I interrupt him. I spin to face him, knocking his hand off my shoulder in the process. "Since I fucked up and got my little brother killed?" My voice sounds bitter even to my own ears, and it's all aimed at me.

"This wasn't you fault," Wash starts.

"Don't." I bite the word out venomously. I step back to put some distance between us. "Don't lie to my face like that."

"You were tricked, just like the rest of us," Wash reasons. "You can't hold yourself responsible for it."

"Of course I can," I almost laugh. "I'm the leader here. Everything that happens is a result of my decisions, and I keep making bad ones that get people killed."

"Silver," Wash says, partway between reprimanding and comforting, and steps toward me.

I hold up a hand to stop him. "Just don't, Wash. This isn't something I need to be convinced of or talked to about. Just drop it."

Wash's eyes leave mine and drift down to the spilled sand on the ground. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and leads me past the bag and toward the center of the room. "Come on," he says, an excited undercurrent in his voice.

"What are you doing?" I ask tiredly, reaching up with my free hand to wipe some of the tears from my eyes.

"You said you didn't want to talk," he says, dropping my hand and backing up a few paces to face me. "From the looks of things, you need a fight. So, let's fight."

"Wash," I start warningly.

He shakes his head. "Training's always better when you have a real opponent, and I'm pretty sure I can do better than a punching bag."

I stare at him for a moment, face blank. This is ridiculous. It's not the right time for a training session. Also, he's not wearing armor. I don't want to hurt him. He's stubborn, though. I know I won't be able to juts make him leave. At least this way he'll stop trying to cheer me up, I think, shrugging assent.

I move my feet into a wider stance and raise my fists in a defensive position. Wordlessly, Wash changes his stance to mirror my own. He steps to the left and I copy the motion. We begin to move in a circle, slowly stepping closer together. Once we're close enough, Wash throws a slow, lazy punch my direction. I easily dodge before sending an equally slow kick toward him. Wash blocks it and answers with another relaxed attack.

We go on like this for a while. It's easy and basic, neither of us really trying. It reminds me of when Manny first taught me to fight, leading me though each motion slowly before telling me to add speed and strength. I begin to notice a pattern in Wash's movements. It's so familiar that I've fallen into the counter moves without thinking, and for a moment I stop to wonder where I've seen this before. Then it hits me. This is one of Manny's patterns. He drilled it into my head for months, making me memorize each move and countermove to perfection before explaining why I should never get caught in a pattern like this during a real fight. This whole exercise with Wash reminds me of those early days of my training.

As I remember this my punches grow more precise, though no faster. Wash still dodges each attack with minimal effort. I don't mind, though. I'm not really trying. This is more of a warm up than a fight; stretching and preparing muscles for later activity. Wash and I continue to step to the side, slowly making a wide circle around the room.

Even though this is familiar, it's not comforting. The ease and simplicity of the fight allows my mind to wander too much. Even worse, seeing Wash use Manganese's style only reminds me that I'll never see him use it again. He died far from home, and despite everything Wash said I still feel like it's my fault. Manny's death was my fault, just like Neon's murder, and Nick's arm, and Boron's betrayal… and Lico.

I try to shut my mind to these thoughts. I don't want to think about this. I can't. My eyes focus on Wash and I double my efforts in the fight. I'll do anything to distract myself.

It doesn't work. The memories come anyway, filling my mind unbidden. Neon's bloodstained body, Silicon looking so small, Nick's arm too far away from him for my mind to process, and Manny, a sad smile on his face as he said goodbye; each a failure I'll never be able to redeem. Tears begin to blur my vision, making it difficult to see Wash in the dim light.

Suddenly, one of my attacks misses. A sloppy jab at his side flies up over his shoulder, and the force of the attack launches me forward. I lose my balance, trying to twist to the side to avoid hitting Wash as I fall. Instead, strong hands catch my shoulders and keep me upright. I expect Wash to either push me back to my feet or use my clumsiness to some advantage in the fight, but he does neither. Instead, he loosely wraps his arms around me.

I think about pulling away. I know I should. I shouldn't let Wash, Agent Washington, hug me like this. I can't, though. I'm shaking too much. I'm afraid that without him holding me, I'll simply fall apart.

I shake harder, unable to hold back the sobs any longer. My tears fall onto Wash's shoulder and he hugs me tighter.

"It's okay," Wash whispers.

I shake my head, pushing out of his arms. "It's not okay," I say, anger and sorrow warring in my voice. I don't know whether to fight or cry, so I settle on shouting. "None of this is okay! At every turn I try to fix what's happened to this family, and all it ever leads to is this. I- I can't do it anymore."

"Yes, you can," Wash says with conviction. "You have to. Your family needs you."

"No, they don't," I all but whisper.

"Yes, they do," Wash says.

"No," I insist, "they don't. My family needs a leader, but it seems clear enough to me now that that leader can't be me. Just look at what I've led them to. They deserve better than this."

"No one else will help them," Wash says with finality. "It doesn't matter if you're the best leader or not, you're the one they have. Do you think someone else would have been willing to sacrifice for them like you have? No one could have led them through any of what you've been through."

"So there's nothing I can do?" I ask wearily. "They'll just keep dying and I'll keep getting to watch it happen, is that it?"

Wash shakes his head. "You've done an amazing job taking care of them, Silver. You've gotten them through situations that would have ended most people. Even when people have died…" He trails off for a second, shaking his head. "Sometimes that just happens. It hurts, and it's awful, but you can't prevent it. These things just happen. All we can do is try to keep going. It's what Silicon would want."

My eyes narrow as I look at him. "You weren't there," I say. "You have no idea if I could have prevented it. There are a thousand things I could have done differently."

"Would any of them have ended with you still alive?" Wash asks skeptically.

"Some," I answer, voice hollow. He knows I wouldn't care if I survive, if it would mean saving Lico.

"Silver…"

"Do you want to know the worst part?" I ask. I continue before he answers. "The worst part… It isn't that it was my own copy who did it, or that she used my gun, or the look of satisfaction on her face when Silicon fell. No, the worst part is that she didn't even aim. After the fight we'd had, I doubt she could even see straight. She just pointed that gun in the direction she heard us running and fired. The bullet could have easily hit somewhere nonlethal, or it could have hit me, or it could have missed us entirely. But instead of any of that, it hit Silicon and it killed him. And she wasn't even aiming."

There's a long moment of silence before Wash speaks up. "I'm glad," he says. Under the sudden intensity of my glare, he continues. "I hate what happened to Silicon, but I'm still so glad that bullet didn't hit you. I don't know what I'd do if you were hurt."

I sigh, anger fading away into weariness as I look at the floor. I'm just so tired. Between trying to be strong for my family and the constant anger I feel toward myself, I feel drained. "What do you care, Wash?" I ask quietly, voice void of energy. "Why are you even here?"

Wash takes a step forward and then there's a gentle hand on my chin, coaxing my face up to look at him. "I thought that would be obvious," he murmurs. His gaze is bittersweet as he leans forward.

I want to lean in. I want to close my eyes and accept whatever this is and just let it happen. But I can't. I know I can't. So I lift my hands from where they've been stiff at my sides and place them on his chest, pushing him away.

Wash looks down at me, confusion in his eyes. "Silver, I-" he starts.

I shake my head, hand still holding him at a distance. "I can't," I say, voice wavering.

"I care about you," he says. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes, because of course he does, this whole conversation makes that obvious, he doesn't need to say it. He's only making this worse.

I take a deep breath to steady myself before looking him in the eyes. "I don't feel the same way," I say evenly.

Wash looks surprised for a moment, then upset, before finally turning unreadable. "Alright," he says, voice stern in a way I know is meant to cover pain. "Thank you for telling me."

I curse inwardly. I didn't want this to hurt him, but it's easier this way. I nod, rather than speaking. I don't trust myself to not just blurt out the truth.

"Will you excuse me?" he continues. "I promised Caboose I'd do something for him." He turns and leaves without waiting for an answer.

"Thank you," I say just before he passes through a door. I know I should just keep quiet and let him go, but I don't want to end on that note. Wash freezes in the doorway, but doesn't turn around. "Thanks for the sparring match," I continue. "It really helped."

"You're welcome," Wash says, voice carefully even, before walking away.

I sigh as I watch him go.

"What the hell was that?" Rho's voice pops up behind me. I turn to see her sitting on top of the broken punching bag, arms folded in an accusatory manner.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say evasively.

"Oh, no," Rho says, standing up and pointing at me. "Don't you give me that. I've been in your head; I know how you feel about Wash, and newsflash: it's exactly the same as he feels about you."

"I don't want to hear it, Rho." I turn away from her and start walking toward the door.

Rho appears in front of my face, hands on her hips. "Well, I want to say it," she insists. I roll my eyes and fold my arms, glaring at her. "Why won't you just let yourself be happy?" she asks.

"That's not what this is about," I say.

"Then what is it about?" she presses. "Why won't you just accept that the guy you like also likes you?"

"It's not fair," I try.

"What about it wouldn't be fair?" Rho almost shouts. "Letting yourself be happy? Would that not be fair?"

"It wouldn't be fair to Wash," I explain. "I can't make a promise like that."

"What promise? All he wants is for you to admit how you feel about him."

"And then what?" I snap. "Would we kiss? Or hug? Or hold hands? All of that is a promise, Rho. It's a promise of a life and a future and that's something I can't give."

"Silver…" Rho starts.

"No," I say, stopping her. "I won't do that to him. I won't make a promise like that when I know what's going to happen." I take a deep breath. "We both know how this is going to end, Rho," I say hopelessly. "I won't let Wash get caught up in that. I don't want it to hurt him."

"Don't you think this will hurt him, thinking that you don't care?"

I smile sadly and shake my head. "He's a tough guy. I'm sure he can handle being rejected by a girl."

"And what about you?" Rho asks. "Don't you think you deserve to be happy, even if it's just for a little while?"

"Happiness," I say slowly, letting the thought form as I speak, "should be reserved for those with the time to enjoy it."

As always, feel free to tell me what you think. I want to know if you like the direction this is going, or if I'm making a huge mistake. Please, weigh in.