Another one shot from the world of Sanctuary. This one goes hand in hand with Jhalya's Story "Preserve the Game" My many thanks to her for expanding this world. (Hopefully this doesn't screw with the ages to badly)
Love is tough. Times are rough.
Mason Royce was three years old when his youngest sister was born.
He can still remember his mother's stoic face and his father's angry pacing outside before his Uncle's drug him away from the house, returning him a few hours later looking like they had all been in a bloody brawl.
He remembers in vivid detail his Aunt's hovering over Ari with their predator supplied medical hologram and box of herbs, dragging her outside, demanding that Bob help them save her, knowing that Bob would do anything for Carolyn, the bond between them unshakable to this day.
The relief that slowly flooded through the house when she was still breathing after a day, a week, a month.
He remembers standing by her crib, watching her while she slept, wishing he could do something, anything, to make her better.
From then on he was constantly under Carolyn's feet as she tended to the ailments of their extended family while tending after her own rambunctious crew. When Carolyn realized that the boy wasn't going anywhere she started utilizing him. By the time he was six he could identify every herb, its healing properties and where to find it in Sanctuary. By the age of eight he could sew stitches prettier than his Aunt Rachel's.
He can still remember the morning after his fifth birthday when he wanted nothing more than to go with his Aunt on her rounds, but it wasn't to be. He was to start weapons training that morning. He can still see his mother bending down in front of him, tying his shoes saying, "Remember where we live, mi hijo, it's just as important to know how to kill as it is to heal." He stayed silent, simply nodding his head, as her brown eyes seemed to bore into his soul.
This particular morning found him sitting outside the house in the rapidly diminishing coolness, going through his med kit. He heard his Father come out the kitchen door, the scent of what passed for coffee on the air.
Royce laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Morning, Mace"
"Morning, Dad."
"Where you off to today?"
"Out to Willie's. Got a lame horse he wants put down."
Royce snorted. "Well guess we'll see about that won't we? Coffee's ready, by the way." Turning to go in the house Royce stopped, turning back. "I'm real proud you of son."
Mace smiled at his father, "Thanks, Dad."
Royce nodded before stepping in the house and Mace could hear his mother's soft voice greeting him.