A note: I went with what happened to the cities in the movie instead of the graphic novel, just because it seemed easier at the time. Sorry if that bothers you.

Part 9

There was so much more she wanted to know. What had he done that was supposedly so morally unacceptable? But he had given her more than she expected, and she didn't want to pry. Plus he seemed… oddly drained. He'd kept up this mask all day; it was about time he fell apart again. But for now, he seemed okay. She stayed on the balcony with him for what seemed like an eternity. With Veidt, silence wasn't awkward. It was just… silent. She half expected to see the sun coming up soon.

She sighed, and turned to head back inside.

"Well, I think I've worn out my welcome," she said as she entered his bedroom.

Without any warning, his hand was clasped around her upper arm so hard she yelped.

"Please don't," he said, and his eyes were wide. "Don't leave."

She cocked her head to the side, considering. She hadn't even expected him to want her there. She just figured she had a kind of obligation to look after him.

"You're… you're all I have left," he said, and she noticed his hand shaking where it grasped her. "It's pathetic, and stupid, and weak… but you're the closest thing I've got to a friend nowadays."

She noticed his breathing quickening, and went straight into caretaker mode.

"Whoa, it's okay," she said, turning back to face him and touching his arm sympathetically. "I won't go anywhere. I'll stay," she said, looking him warmly in the eyes.

He nodded shakily, and looked down.

She waited for a second before whispering, "you're cutting off the circulation in my hand."

"Oh, sorry," he said, pulling his hand away as if she'd stung him.

"Adrian, it's okay. Whatever this is, I'll help you through it. I don't have to know the specifics. I don't have anywhere else to go, no other tasks more important than helping you. It's pathetic, and stupid, and weak…" he grinned as she quoted him, "but you are my number one priority now."

She hadn't meant it to sound like a lame monologue from a movie, but it did nonetheless. It didn't matter, however, because it fended off the panic attack Adrian had been about to fall into. She just stared at him for a moment, and a thought struck her.

Was she starting to care for him? More than just an employee who sees their boss suffering? That scared her.

She steeled herself, and raised her head so she could look him in the eyes.

"Why don't I make something to eat? We both need some nourishment," she said, and he nodded.

She walked into the kitchen, making sure that Adrian was right behind her. She was beginning to ponder exactly what she could make when Adrian stepped forward and smiled.

"You've done enough for me. I'll do this," he said, and confidently began pulling out random food ingredients and pans.

He cooked too? He had to be all-gay. No (semi) straight guy was smart, sexy, and a cook. That would just tear a hole in the universe.

She stepped back and sat at the silver table she'd sat at that morning, and peeked at the clock on the oven- 8:13. Had they really been out on the balcony that long?

Regardless of her apparent ignorance of the passing of time, Adrian continued to throw things together for a good half hour. She was about to ask if she could help, when he turned around and smiled.

"Lettuce wraps?" he said, and it almost sounded like he was attempting to say it happily.

"You can make those without meat?" she asked, walking over and examining his (very scrumptious-looking) concoction.

"Sure. Just up the amount of water chestnuts and bamboo shoots," he said, and she almost blurted "why are the perfect ones always (half) gay?" but contained herself.

Of course, half gay was still half straight, right? Good enough for her.

She smiled at him and made herself a plate. It felt oddly like… home.

They ate in relative silence, but again, there was nothing awkward about it. It was strangely comforting, just knowing the other person was there, but not having to break the perfection with words.

When they were finished, Grace insisted on cleaning, and Adrian eventually let her, muttering something about "Grace the Ass." He promptly disappeared, and when he returned he stated that the guest room was ready for her. She hadn't noticed a guest room when she explored the first time…

He led her to a room just to the left of the workout room, where she found that it hadn't previously been a guest room. When she had explored, it had been just another library with a couch and a few bookshelves. Apparently it was a pullout couch, and he had completely prepared it for her.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said, smiling sheepishly. "I mean, I really feel like I'm imposing."

"I asked you to stay. It's not imposing when you've got an invite," he replied, smiling. "And it's I who should be thanking you. You held me together when I almost fell apart before my speech. It was you who somehow got me to return here when all I wanted to do was freeze to death on the steps of the Pyramid base in Antarctica. Don't consider it imposing."

She thanked him, and watched as he walked to his room, rubbing his head. She was reminded of her high-school mythology class as she watched him walk away; the Titan Atlas, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. She didn't know how he was going to make it through this, but she was determined to help.

As she slept, she continued to dream of the city. Her subconscious placed her at the heart of it, standing alone, staring at a huge cobalt… energy ball of some kind. It reminded her of the toys she used to love as a child; the ones you touch and the static follows your fingers. She smiled to herself as she reached up to touch it, wondering if this one would do the same. The second she touched it, it expanded like a sponge in water, swallowing her whole and deconstructing her body like a G.I. Joe toy.

She screamed, sitting straight up in her bed, rapidly feeling of her own body to make sure it was still in tact. She panted for a moment while her sanity returned, and peered around the dark room. A digital clock reading 3:55 glowed bright green from the table next to the pullout couch. She sighed, pushing her hair back with a slightly trembling hand, and realized that she was sweating pretty badly. She also realized that she had to use the restroom very urgently.

Padding out of her room and squinting against the light, she did her business, shutting off the light and turning to return to her room. She paused, however, noticing that there were lights pouring down the hall from the sitting area. She shivered, her bare legs showing under the big shirt she was wearing to sleep in as she shuffled into the sitting room. Adrian was sitting on the couch in just a pair of pants, head in his hands.

"Adrian," she said, but he didn't look up. "Adrian, it's almost four in the morning, what are you…"

When he looked up at her, he looked sickly pale… deathly pale. His lips had very little color in them, just as his cheeks didn't, and his eyes were red and bloodshot. There were dark circles below his eyes, and he was shivering lightly.

"It seems you had the same problem I did," he whispered, his hands miserably gripping handfuls of his hair.

She scurried over, sitting on the couch, shivering as the cold leather hit her bare thighs. She laid a hand on his back comfortingly, and stared at his face for answers.

"Nightmare," he continued. "I heard you scream."

"Oh, yeah. It's happened a lot since the attacks," she said, pushing her sweat-damp hair out of her face. She noticed Adrian's was slightly wet too.

"What was yours about?" she asked quietly, rubbing his back (completely innocently) and realizing that he was actually hot to the touch.

"What do you think?" he scoffed, rubbing his forehead and disheveling his hair. "Exactly what yours was about."

"Did you get any decent sleep?" she asked.

"Not in a week. Every time, I just see… the attacks. I see people's faces, looking at me as they die. They ask me why…" he paused, gritting his teeth and speeding up his words rather frantically. "I just can't do it anymore," he said, and she noticed he was gripping his hair so hard he might pull it out.

"It's just a dream," she tried, feeling like a teenaged babysitter as she said it.

"No!" he gasped, turning to face her, and there was unbelievable grief in his face, his eyes. "That's the problem. It's not."

He stood quickly, and Grace pulled her hand back, watching him. She could see the thoughts crossing his face, and he quickly turned and walked to his bedroom. He was walking like… like he had a purpose. In his current state of mind, it probably wasn't a good purpose.

"Adrian," she said cautiously, following him as he walked into his bathroom. His hands shook as he wrenched the medicine cabinet open "Adrian," she said with more conviction, beginning to figure out what he was thinking. "That's not the answer."

"It is. I have to sleep. I can't…" he said, and his voice broke as he pulled out a tiny clear jar labeled Lorazepam and then a syringe. "I can't look at their faces anymore. I just can't."

His hands still shook as he lifted the tiny jar upside down and went to stick the needle through its rubber stopper.

"Adrian!" she said, laying a hand on his forearm, stopping him. He stopped, but didn't lower his hands. "Don't," she said. "I can help you. I will help you through this."

He thought for a moment, then violently shrugged her hand off, and went back to inserting the needle in the jar. "There is absolutely nothing you can do that will help me."

He pulled a gram or so into the syringe, and then tapped it with a finger to make the bubbles rise to the top, where he pushed them out. He shoved past her, quite rudely, and flopped to a sitting position on his bed, where he took a deep breath and raised the needle to his arm.

"Adrian, please don't do this. Drugging yourself isn't the answer. What is that, anyway?" she asked, hoping she could slow his determination with questions.

"Lorazepam," he said. "It's marketed as Atavan. It's just an anxiolytic and a sedative. I'll fall into a dreamless sleep. Then maybe they'll leave me alone," he said, and she noticed his lower lip trembling.

She sighed, sinking onto the bed next to him. "I'm not talking you out of this, am I?" she asked, looking at him.

He half grinned, but it was obviously fake. "No. Call me Adrian the Ass."

She sighed, and he reached over and flipped his bedside lamp on, holding out his arm inner-elbow up. He raised the syringe and took a deep breath to cease his shaking.

"Mach, dass es aufhört," he said, and plunged it into the vein.

Grace had to look away when little white spots started dancing across her field of vision and her ears began to ring. She had almost forgotten that she was a bit squeamish.

She knew he was finished when she heard him set the syringe on his bedside table. She looked back at him as he sank back against his pillows and waited for the drug to kick in. She just sat with him, watching and waiting. When it was obvious he was starting to slip into sleep, she reached over and took his hand. Not in any kind of romantic way; just to let him know she was still there.