Chapter 22: Take Back the Torment

Author's Note: Hm, death threats still stand. I guess that means I should really update faster than I already am.

Mood Song: Helena by My Chemical Romance

--

'Why does it sound like the devil is laughing?'

--

In the midst of my pacing, I see the doctor standing off to one side. It looks as if he's almost smiling.

"Is he going to be okay?" I inquire frantically. He must have seen the tension in my face because he chuckles softly. I want to punch him in the teeth.

"He has a few broken ribs and he took a pretty nasty blow to the head but he's awake and fine," he finally answers me.

I brush past him, not caring if it's visiting hours or not. I'm the Colonel, damn't!

He's sitting up in bed, eyeing the IV in his arm warily. He looks up when I enter and a honest-to-god smile graces his features. I can't decide whether to throttle him or embrace him. So I slap him.

Then kiss the spot where my hand left an imprint. Of course. He looks startled.

"How dare you put me through that! Do you have any idea what you did to me?"

He bristles with anger, typically, and glares at me. "Oh shove it. It wasn't your choice."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing the impending headache away. Silently, I sit on the edge of his bed, moving his legs aside. "Do you want to talk about it?" I say in my gentlest voice possible.

He smirks and I know what's coming. Really, it's Edward. "Did you give up on being Fuhrer and decide to be a shrink instead?"

His next words are caught in his throat as I silence him with my mouth. Instinctively, I cover my crotch with my hands just in time before his fist came down. Ha, I've gotten smarter.

He jerks away from me, panting heavily. "I got tired." He said it so low that I had to lean in to hear the rest.

"I got tired of doing all these missions and failing. Getting nowhere closer to getting my brother's body back. And it's all my fault anyway. If I hadn't pressured him into doing the transmutation and trying to bring…none of this would have happened."

He grew silent and that vacant expression was back, clouding his eyes. He looked like he wanted to cry but I knew he wouldn't; not again, not in front of me. Too much stubborn pride in that boy.

How could I have missed this? I was so caught up in my own shit that I failed to see him grow more and more depressed by the day. He was too busy trying to save me from a dark, bottomless pit. And he couldn't even save himself!

Quietly, I gather him in my arms, careful to mind his ribs, and hold him to me. He doesn't seem to have much fight left in him so just sort of sinks into my embrace.

His flesh hand, which clasps onto my shoulder, is warm. There's still a lot of life in this boy. I'm not going to give up on him.

Ever.

Mask of Mirage