Edward tensed as a tentative finger traced over the pink scars that littered his back. He didn't want to tell them, technically he couldn't, but the idea of reliving more memories he barely repressed made his chest constrict.

He took a deep breath before responding. "I told you already. We were hit by a roadside bomb."

"Honey, those scars, the angle." He could picture Esme shaking her head before continuing. "You were imprisoned weren't you?"

Memories―seen through the only non-swollen shut eye—of pain, of whips and chains flashed before his mind's eye. "I can't say." He replied, his voice cold, devoid of emotion.

"Edward—"

He wrenched his arm out of the hold and limped towards the front door. He shook his head, forcing the memories and flashbacks and licks of pain rippled through his body. He gripped the doorknob, clenched his jaw and yanked it open. Cold air assaulted him, his body unprepared for the feeling.

Edward let his feet lead as far as he could physically go. The unused muscles in his injured leg screamed in protest, not ready for this amount of exertion. He collapsed on a nearby bench, tossing his cane to the ground carelessly.

He rested his head in his hands, gripping the edges of his hair. He was powerless to stop the onslaught of images and sounds that filled his mind.

"He hasn't cracked," a raspy voice murmured out in the hall. "We need the information ASAP. Intel keeps coming up dry. Give it twenty-four hours. If he's still no help, end it."

Edward cringed, then instantly regretted it. His face was sore; his left eye was swollen shut. It felt as if every single one of his limbs were disconnected from his body. But this wasn't an out of body experience; this was a very real thing.

They wanted answers, answers Edward would take to his grave. He swore once he received his Eagle, Globe and Anchor badge. He was a marine till death. He vowed to protect his country no matter the circumstances and promised himself he would never back down. No matter what.

Though when he thought as to who he was leaving behind, his heart instantly felt heavy, almost too big for his chest. He had trouble breathing at the thought of leaving behind his soul mate and his daughter. His little Abby.

He couldn't do that to them. Edward wouldn't abandon them, take the easy way out and let them end it. He will fight. He will make it home. He'll live a haunted life, knowing even being in the position he was currently in was better that what his other men went through.

You shouldn't be alive.

Again he cringed at the thought. Of course he shouldn't be alive. He should have died along with his men when they were first captured, instead he escaped. Like a wimp he ran away, abandoning his men, his brothers. Of course there were repercussions for doing so.

He was here.

Edward justified every hit, every bruise every curse that transferred from his captors to himself. It was the perfect atonement for leaving his men behind.

Days of torture passed by, Edward could feel his body slowly giving up. The few rations he got each day tasted like sawdust. It hurt to breathe and hell it hurt to keep his single eye open. He didn't expect to make it out of there alive and took the time to accept it.

That was until one day, luck finally joined his side.

He heard yelling, the phrase "Hit the deck" was repeated over and over again. Edward fell to the ground a minute too late. He felt the explosion vibrate throughout his body as the sizzling sound of fire echoed around the desolate building.

His vision quickly went blurry, his mind conjuring up images of his men scattered around, piles upon piles of bloody bodies. He was jarred out of his self-loathing by deep American voices. They were calling out, searching the ruins for any soldiers who were alive.

Edward forced his lips open, tried to yell out to them but no sound came out. His wrists burned against the thick rope as he tried to free his hands. He kicked at everything around him, trying to make noise but it was no use. He let the darkness swallow him hole as he slipped into unconsciousness.

SEMPER FI

A deep voice wrenched Edward from his dreamlike state. "Major General Cullen, age twenty-six, injuries hell there's too many to list. He was captured and abused, his back is littered with whip marks, his face swollen, one eye shut. Labored breathing from three broken ribs, sustained most damage to right leg. Not serious enough to amputate. Truly the list goes on."

He internally cringed at the list of injuries.

"He deserves a purple heart." Another voice said.

No he doesn't. Edward thought to himself. He doesn't deserve anything. He left his men for dead, took the pussy way out and ran. The only thing he deserves is the haunted memories.

"He'll most definitely be receiving one if I have anything to say about it." Edward's body instinctually tensed as the voice of his commanding officer filled the room. "Cullen saved his men from the worst possible situation that he ended up enduring himself. He deserves more than just a purple heart. I'm just glad he gets to return home."

Silent tears slid down Edward's cheeks at the admission. How could General Stone speak so highly of him when he is so truly undeserving?

SEMPER FI

The time he spent in the hospital passed by slowly, excruciatingly so. He wasn't allowed to contact home, relieve his Bella and Abby of the haunting unknown. He slowly grew to accept the fact that his leg would never be one hundred percent normal and that he may need a cane for the rest of his life.

He was grateful he still had it.

Edward's dreams were haunted by his memories, flashes of his men, of his time while being captured. He refused to get help from yet another doctor. He refused to admit defeat, admit how weak he became. He refused to share his burden. He deserved every single minute of it.

"Edward," Bella whispered, careful to approach him. "Baby, look at me." Glassy eyed, he looked up at her, wrapping his arms around his torso to shield his body from the cold. "You don't have to talk about it." She started quietly. "I can wait however long it takes before you're ready."

Edward nodded. He felt numb. He always felt drained after reliving his time in Afghanistan. He let her lead him back to the house, gripping her hand tightly in his trying to steal some of her so obvious strength. His mother's car was still in the driveway, along with a black Ford. General Stone stepped out of the driver side, in his dress blues, smiling proudly at Edward.

Time to face the music.