Time had only served as an agonizing reminder of every second he'd botched. Trucy had gone back to school and pushed hard to catch up. She'd remained determined to graduate with her friends. She focused her energy on school, but home life still brought her down. On rough nights, Phoenix would find her sleeping, clutching Apollo's urn. On more than one occasion, he'd found her in Apollo's room, crying, surrounding herself with his memory.

Phoenix writhed himself. Anything that even vaguely reminded him of Apollo had been difficult to face. Looking at his vacant desk, seeing his hand written notes in his files, the cards Apollo had given him for his birthday that Phoenix still held onto when he'd opened his desk after other items.

Phoenix could never bring himself to read Apollo's autopsy report. He'd held it several times, wanting to look at the contents, wanting to know the facts. But he could guess the truth. Apollo had swallowed the remaining antidepressants he'd hated so much, then moved to the garage and forced himself to drink anything that might kill him. Most of what he'd consumed had been slow acting; he'd suffered, laying in pain, dying alone, probably aware of most of his death. Phoenix continued to be haunted by images of Apollo laying dead in the Hospital. The feel of his cold skin, his body defeated, lifeless, sorrow in his brown eyes, his pale colour, touching his hand, hoping for a response, his soul shattering when Apollo failed to react. Phoenix kept positive of the fact that he'd chose to see Apollo before they'd taken him away. Even if his last memory of seeing Apollo was lifeless in the hospital, he'd found a small sense of reprieve having been able to say goodbye.

Phoenix couldn't hold back the tears while he picked up a small pile of cards that he'd displayed in the office, each bearing condolences. He gathered them, reading their messages as he walked to his desk and sat. It was late, Trucy had gone to bed but Phoenix couldn't sleep. He read each card carefully, noting their senders. Several had come from people he didn't know, presumably from Apollo's orphanage days or time with Kristoph before he came across one that repulsed him. He wanted to rip it up. He wanted to burn its torn pieces. How could the writer think it was appropriate to send their sympathy? Hate burned in his stomach when he read the name before he'd cast the card aside. Klavier's condolences meant absolutely nothing.

Phoenix piled the cards together, shoving Klavier's to the bottom. He opened the drawer of his desk, where he kept Apollo's things and tossed the cards in. He paused, looking at the contents of the drawer. It contained the things that Phoenix held closest to him in memory of Apollo. Things he could never bear to face or to destroy. He sighed, the pit of his stomach turning cold as he looked at the items. Among them, Apollo's autopsy report – something Phoenix still could not bring himself to read, a small bundle of notes from Apollo, mostly about files he had questions on or telling him he'd be home late and not to wait up for him and the one thing that Phoenix had put so much time, effort and resources into getting. Apollo's birthday present.

He picked up the small package. He'd left it wrapped in textured paper, a small tag with the details in the corner. Phoenix had hoped that this would be the one thing that might finally lift Apollo's spirit and show him how much he'd loved him. Something that would brighten his mood and help him recover. Phoenix held the package before placing it back in the drawer. He was of two minds, Klavier's card brought up hatred, but it was a condolence none-the-less. The man knew what it was like to lose someone he loved and maybe somewhere in Klavier's mind the humane side of him felt that while he never could apologize; he'd felt the need to at least say he was sorry, even though he was a good part responsible for what had happened. Phoenix couldn't forgive him, no matter how heartfelt his card was. Phoenix convinced himself Klavier had only sent the card out of spite.

Lost in his variegated thoughts, a quiet 'Papa?' brought his head back. 'Daddy, I can't sleep.' Trucy's bleary voice broke the stillness. 'What's wrong, sweetie?' he queried, as she came closer and wrapped her arms around him. 'I can't sleep. I don't know why.' She replied, looking up at Phoenix. He knew her situation far too well. He'd been there many times over the years when his world had come crashing down.

'It's okay, I have nights like this too.' He worried, hugging her tighter. There were a lot more things she could be bothered about, a lot more reasons she couldn't sleep. 'Daddy,' she looked up at him. 'Why did Polly die?'

Phoenix knew this was eventually coming, but having time to prepare for it hadn't made hearing it any easier. He thought about the question. 'What should I tell her? I can't lie, but I'm not entirely sure either.' Trucy looked at him. 'Honey.' He drew a deep breath; 'Polly was very sick.' He hesitated, judging her reaction before continuing. Her look existed as a cross between confusion and melancholy. 'Polly's mind was very sick.' He corrected himself. 'Polly died because his mind told him that he was ill and that he'd never get better no matter how much we loved him.' Trucy looked at Phoenix. 'Is that why Polly took those pills, to make his mind happy?' she asked. 'Yes.' Phoenix replied. 'Polly's pills were supposed to make him feel better and his mind happy again, but they didn't help. Polly died because he… He couldn't bear the pain of his depression any longer.' Phoenix couldn't tell her the detailed truth, part of it because he hadn't known what Apollo had been really going through, the other part of him not able to explain it beyond treating Trucy alike a small child. He knew Trucy was now a young woman and could put most of it together, but to him, she was still the sweet, innocent little girl he'd taken in years ago and needed to shelter from the harsher realities of life.

Phoenix could feel a lump in his throat and tears welling in his eyes. Trucy looked down, she too seemed to be crying. Phoenix hugged her tight. 'I think it's time you tried to go back to sleep, you do have school in the morning.' He reassured, getting up and walking her back to bed. She lay down, Phoenix grasped her blanket and tucked her in before leaning over her and kissing her forehead, something he'd had a hard time adjusting to as a new father, but now, with Apollo gone and Trucy to protect, he had made every effort to show her he loved her. 'Goodnight sweetie. Daddy loves you.'

'Daddy.' He caught, as he turned to leave. 'I love you too.' Trucy yawned, as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Phoenix paused. He'd heard Trucy say she loved him before, but a part him still wondered if she'd thought it was obligatory, as if the only reason she'd said it was because he'd been the one to take her in. This time, it struck him differently. Apollo's death left him closer to Trucy, something he'd always sensed, but something that now, he needed. He had thought about it many times, but now, Trucy's safety was more prominent in his mind. He looked back and smiled. Trucy had drifted off, the bear she'd given Apollo held tightly to her chest. Phoenix relaxed, knowing that she was safe.

Phoenix decided it was time to find some sleep himself. He stretched and entered his room, clicking on the bedside light. There was still one more thing he needed to do before he went to sleep. He walked over to his dresser, looking at the small memorial and Apollo's remains. He reached out his hand and picked up the urn containing Apollo and held it close. 'I can't go to bed without saying goodnight to you too kiddo. Goodnight Apollo, I love you.' He held Apollo close for a few seconds before putting the urn back in place and crawling into bed. He stared at the memorial for a few seconds the blame in his mind becoming overbearing. He sighed as he clicked out the light, casting him into the eternal darkness and rolled over, drifting off into a fitful sleep.