and I got no excuse

Character: Alex Armstrong

Summary: He is still stuck in reverse.

His fists which have been supposed to protect and not to destroy are clenched by his sides as his eyes look everywhere but not at the woman on the other side of the table. He knows that he will not leave this room until he has spoken but he is patient and stubborn enough to make her leave before he has to talk with her. Then again, she is patient as well and he has learned from former attempts to keep her from talking with him that she would not leave.

She takes her job seriously when orders say that she has to talk with him about the war, she will not leave until he has spoken with her.

"So?" she asks again, kind eyes resting on his fists. "You can relax."

His fists unclench against his will and he finally looks at her. "What do you want, Doc?" he asks.

"You are keeping your emotions all bottled up – that's not healthy," she states as she picks up her pen to throw it into the waste bin. "I will not talk about our conversation with anyone."

Silence falls over them and then, the dam that has been holding back and caging his emotions since his return and his shoulders start to tremble as the first tear falls.

She rises from her chair and crosses the room to rub his shoulder. "Let it all out," she says, holding out a handkerchief. "Let go of all that hatred."

"I … I wanted to protect…"

"I know," she nods. "And you did protect – you protected me, you protected my family."

"I … wanted to protect everyone…" he whispers, staring as his hands. "Those fists, this strength – they were meant to protect and not to destroy."

"Yet sometimes, destruction is necessary for protection," she says wisely. "There, Alex, you have are strong, you are a survivor. So many did not come back but you protected people, soldiers who came home to their children and wives. Yes, you are disillusioned and – hell, who of us isn't? No one signed up for this war – well, maybe Kimblee."

"My … my sister," he replies, his voice broken and weak. "She…"

"Your sister has no right to define you," she snaps, interrupting her soothing movements for a moment. "You signed up to protect – so protect those who follow you. The corporals Ross and Brosh have chosen you. You were the only candidate on their lists of desired assignments. So give yourself a little more credit. True, your breakdown in the war is the end of your career but you have not signed up to have a great career. You are here to protect – and a major can protect."

"You are doing more than I could ever do. You heal."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but I could just as easily cause destruction," she replies. "Alex, you are not half as burned down as you think you are. There is still courage inside of you – and seriously, you have still your courage."

"Why are you even bothering? Why are you bothering with everyone's problems instead with your own?" he asks. "Let me guess: your own problems are too much for you."

"Perfect solution," she says unfazed. "Of course they are. Like yours, my problems are entirely caused myself. I create them in my head and make them bigger and more complicated than they should have been. We are both helpless – me a little bit more than you – because our families are the central factor for most of our problems."

"And yet, you can go on living like you used to because your hands are not stained in blood."

"Technically, I touched more blood than you," she replies with a smirk. "But yes, you are right. I was not there. I cannot know how you feel – I can only try. And I tell you that you are a hero and not a coward. You are not a quitter."

"I did not intend to give up," he tells her, ignoring the fact that there is a loaded gun in his nightstand and belying the nights he has spend staring at this gun. He knows that she knows that this is a lie. He has been seeing her frequently for weeks and he knows that she can read his every movement, the way he trembles sometimes – because she is an expert and he cannot lie to the woman who is paid for seeing lies.

"This is good," she smiles, not calling him out on the lie – just as usual. They both know that this is the way their game works, that this is the only way they can function.

"Yes," he says, looking at his fists that have lost their frightening weight lately.

"Are … are you feeling better now?"

"A little bit."

"Just … don't go on any reckless revenge trips. And stop to try pleasing your sister at any cost. She is a good officer and she deserves to be respected for her work but she is not flawless."