a/n: this chapter is rated M for course language, reader discretion is advised.

Left Behind
Chapter 6: Confessions

Coming back to consciousness was a struggle for the young Captain, what with the anesthesia and the pain medicine; but it seemed to be wearing off and so the pain made the struggle less exhausting—but tiring nonetheless. It felt as if his eye lids were glued to his cheeks and the back of his throat was caked with something that seemed to have made his lips dry together.

He tried to reach up with his arm to rub his eyes, but instead the limb smacked him in the face; the offending extremity like jell-o. But the sudden shock of it did cause his eyes to open painfully to bright over-head lights, as well as a grunt escaping his throat which caused his lips to peal apart. His eyes watering from the bright lights, Kevin didn't see who, but a straw was placed against his lips, and they wrapped around the tube, sucking with a vengeance. The cool water against his parched throat was like paradise, not to mention the fact that the liquid washed away what Kevin had realized was the blood that was caking his mouth.

It took his a second to realize that the straw was taken away, and he was left slightly out of breath. He tilted his head on the pillow, angling his head so that the light didn't shine in his eyes. He caught sight of Michael sitting back down in the chair by the bedside after setting down the cup on the table side.

Kevin stared at him for a long moment and Michael stared back. He didn't know what to say, felt the urge to push himself up, but knew that it would be futile. Michael was the first one to speak, his grey eyes full of concern.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Kevin tried to shrug his shoulders and regretted it immediately, a grimace crossed his face. "What happened?" he asked instead, his voice rough; he cleared his throat.

"It was a trap," Michael said through clenched teeth, his hands fisted. "They fucking knew we were coming, someone had to have informed them that we were coming."

Kevin furrowed his brows. "I don't understand." he said, his eyes at half mast.

"You need to rest," Michael said suddenly, the anger leaving him for concern again.

This kind of freaked Kevin out, he may not have known Michael for that long, but he knew that this was not the man's usual persona. He was tired though, his eyes drooping against his will. Michael leaned forward in the chair and pulled the blankets up; this too, was something that was never done for Kevin as a child and it gave him a sense of security—another thing that had yet to really feel. Against his will, his eyes slipped closed.

Michael sat back in his chair. "I'll be here when you wake-up." he spoke softly.

The next time that Kevin awoke, it was to a nurse checking the bandage over his heart and the leads to his arms. There was a beep and a fizzle of air, and that was when the pain in his chest started to abide. The nurse left and Kevin tuned his heading, looking to where Michael had been before. He was there still or again just as he had said, and Kevin felt the anxiety leave him. He was just in time to see Michael slip a piece of card in his breast pocket.

Kevin furrowed his brows for a second as Michael looked up at him.

"Feeling any better?" he asked.

"I guess," Kevin answered softly; not able to take his eyes off Michael.

"That's good," Michael agreed.

"What happened?" Kevin asked, a slight shiver in his voice.

Michael took a deep breath through his nose, seemingly to force his anger away. "Someone who had the information on our op. was leaked, we think that one of the people off world who gave us the information, informed the Genii."

Kevin nodded. "And . . .?"

Michael let out a short breath, clenching his jaw for a moment. "And you were shot." he said shortly.

Kevin had figured as much, but it couldn't have been that bad if he were still here. "And what's in your pocket?" he asked, his heart suddenly beating a little faster.

Michael's eyes shot downward for a moment before he looked at Kevin. "It's your photograph," he said. "It fell from your jacket."

"Oh." was all that came from Kevin; yep, his heart was definitely beating faster and more painfully.

Did this mean that Michael knew, did he think Kevin a sick-o because he had the photo of Major Lorne's family? Yes, Major Lorne's and not his; because Kevin didn't have any family. The Major may have been blood related—though Kevin had yet to really confirm the fact—but they weren't family. Sometimes Kevin had thought about Lorne in the context that they were brothers. He wasn't sure why, maybe to see how it sounded. It was a nice word that slid across the surface of his tongue, but the pain that it caused was tremendous.

Kevin's face pinched with pain and he gasped out, the heart monitor beeping erratically. Michael jumped from the chair, gently but firmly holding Kevin arms down, holding him in place so that he didn't tear any of the stitches in his chest.

"Clam down, Kevin." Michael told him. "I don't care about the photo, but you need to calm down."

Kevin eyes were frantic, straining against Michael's strength. He couldn't help it, the panic wouldn't go down.

"Kevin," Michael said slowly but with force, putting his face in Kevin's view.

Kevin had no choice to but to focus on his face, focus on his grey eyes. They were filled with concern, a little fear, but also determination. Michael had been the cause for a lot of firsts for Kevin; and that had made him calm down—Michael was the first one who ever cared.

The beeping slowed to a stop, and Kevin stopped fighting against Michael; panting painfully against the mattress. Michael stayed where he was for a moment, making sure that Kevin really was calmed down before he sat on the edge of his seat.

Kevin looked at Michael, his face pale and his nostrils flaring from the force of his breaths. "What do you know?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Michael stared at him. "Kevin," he started. "We don't have to do this."

But Kevin shook his head against his pillow. "We do—I need to, Michael, I really do."

"Okay," Michael nodded. "If you want to talk, I'll listen."

"Do you have my picture?"

Michael nodded and dug it from his breast pocket, handing it to Kevin. Kevin reached out and took it from Michael's fingers, his own hand trembling slightly. As Kevin unfolded it, he didn't really seem to notice the fact that it was sticky and tinted red with his blood. He stared at it, his hands going rigid.

"I've been in a boy's home my whole life," Kevin said, his voice quiet, his eyes not focused on Michael but the photo instead. "I figured that I must have done something to be put in a place that was for children who weren't loved by their parents—it's actually probably still true. I was never told who my parents were, and I obviously hadn't been adopted. I learned to deal, shoving all of those misgivings down, becoming a lone wolf of sorts. I couldn't really seem to trust anyone enough to make friends and such, because of that." Kevin paused for a second, taking a deep shuttering breath; the stitches pulling as his chest expanded with it. He swallowed. "When I turned eighteen, I was given my files, and that was where I found the picture."

Kevin gave a harsh laugh that startled Michael. "I thought that it had to be a sick joke, that they would leave a happy family picture there in that folder to mock me! I probably should have thrown it out, not even giving it a second glance, but I did. It reminded me of what others had, of what I didn't have, and I some how needed that. I had thought about killing myself, but was to chicken, and even if I did who was gonna care? But the one thing that the picture did for me was find my life purpose . . . Joining the force. It was better not to have family, I didn't have to make friends—didn't even have to really think—just had to take orders, and eventually I'd get killed in the line of duty."

Tears ran down Kevin's pale cheeks—he hadn't cried since he was a kid. Michael didn't move, just watched as the photo fell from Kevin's finger and onto his chest, silent tears wracking throughout his body. Not able to take much more of this, Michael reached forward and grasped Kevin's clenched fist. Kevin turned his head to the side and buried his face in the pillow, his salty tears soaking the material.

After a few more minutes of tears, and just soaking in the comforting vibes that Michael was giving off, the tears stopped and his heart calmed down enough to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Kevin finally spoke up, his voice cracking as he squeezed Michael's hand back.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Kevin." Michael told him firmly.

Kevin swallowed as he nodded. "Still . . . It's kind of embarrassing—I haven't cried since I was a kid, and to do it now, in front of you . . ."

"It's good to cry sometimes," Michael said. "It helps to make the sadness go away."

"Do you think that he's really my brother?" Kevin asked, knowing that Michael knew that it was Major Lorne in the picture too.

"Honestly?" Michael said, not taking his eyes from Kevin, "I think that you should talk to him, nothing bad could come from it and it would clear things up."

But Kevin was shaking his head. "I can't do that; for one he's my superior officer, the second is that how would that even look? And what if we just have the same last name and it's just a coincidence that we have the same eye colour—blue is very common, you know."

Michael just nodded, reaching over and grabbing the cup of water. "Drink some of this." he said, not really giving Kevin a choice as he stuck the tip of the straw against the younger's lips.

Kevin didn't really care either, because he was actually pretty thirsty, and his jaw slightly ached—Kevin hadn't talked as much in his twenty-six years than he had within the last month with Michael.

"Now close your eyes and get some rest." it kind of sounded like an order to Kevin, but again he didn't really mind because he was desperately exhausted; both physically and emotionally. His eyes started to slip closed and his grip on Michael's hand loosened slightly.

Michael gave an internal sigh as he picked up the picture for Kevin's chest and put it back in his pocket; who could have guessed that something as simple as a photograph could cause such trouble?