"You thought about what you're gonna do once you're released?" Max asked.

Nero did not answer right away. It was a fair question, the answer to which he hadn't yet given much thought. Indeed, he'd been trying his hardest not to think at all. Sometimes he was able to achieve a blessed state of apathy, too exhausted to do anything but lie there and let the seconds tick by. Now that he was out of the mako pod, he didn't sleep quite as much, and the days seemed so long. The rational side of his brain knew that at some point he would recover enough to be discharged, but Nero had trouble believing this would happen any time soon.

"No," he wheezed. His throat and chest felt better, but it still took far too much effort to speak or to move. Max resettled against him. She and Shelke were his primary visitors besides Vincent. His father. Dad. Vincent was his dad. It was what he wanted to be called, though it was still hard to think of him in any sort of personal context. It wasn't that he disliked Vincent, they just knew so little about each other. Max was much easier to parse, or at least more easy going when it came to Nero's inability to comprehend the nuances of Surface life. They'd been watching cartoons, snuggled together on the narrow hospital bed. It was a painless way to concentrate on something else, and though the plotlines were often nonsensical and imaginary, it was still a chance to try to absorb some Surface culture.

"It probably won't be for a little while yet," Max said, apparently in effort to reassure him. "Doubt you could move back into the Turk barracks, though. You're not up to fighting form, and the barracks are for active-duty personnel only. The cave's sort of out of the question right now, so that's a no go too."

Nero nodded. His shadows had yet to return, making him feel as if he'd truly lost everything that had ever been precious and familiar. Shelke might still be alive, but she had her own family to love and care for her. He did not want to detract from her happiness. If this was what it was like to be normal, Nero was feeling cheated.

"I know Vin wants to take you back to his house," Max went on. "You know he'd do his best to help, and you'd eat well." She grinned at this and Nero briefly smiled back. Veld had taken it as a personal challenge to fatten him up. However, although Veld's cooking was delicious, it was sometimes hard to eat. Even for one with a SOLDIER metabolism, there were times when food had no appeal.

"Doesn't have to be like last time," she said softly. "You could set some ground rules. Make a chore chart or something. Treat it like you're going to be roommates instead of each trying to play some sort of role that isn't familiar or necessary. You may be Vincent's kid, but you're a grown man, and he shouldn't dictate your every move. Also, you shouldn't have to be a guest in their house twenty-four-seven. You get to do your own thing, but without disrupting their lives too much. You're all adults, you can figure it out, and if you need me or Shelke to translate, we will."

That made him chuckle; the action making his chest ache, but no longer prompting a fit of coughing.

"I know Vincent probably wants me around," Nero said quietly- volume hurt. "I know it's 'cause he thinks he owes me or something."

"Well, that and you're his kid. I dunno if you noticed, but up here, there's a lot of automatic attachment that goes with that. He likes you. He wants to see you happy. And yeah, he probably does feel like he owes you for a lot of stuff."

If one thought of it in terms of trying to make up for killing his son's family, then yes, Vincent did have a lot of atoning to do. Nero considered a moment and nodded.

"Still hard to get my head around," he admitted.

It was Max's turn to nod. "I'm told you never really get it until you have kids of your own."

"I'm never having kids of my own."

"I know, babe, I know," Max said soothingly. "Just...think about it, yeah? Not about having kids, but about maybe going home with Veld and Vincent. I think they'd like to try again and actually have it work out this time."

Nero thought about that and eventually nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

A few days later, Shalua organized a meeting of sorts in Nero's room. Max was at class, but Shelke, Veld, and Vincent found places to sit and looked at Shalua expectantly.

"I think you've reached the point where you can continue your recovery without specialized care," Shalua began, addressing Nero directly. "You don't need the respirator to survive, and you can go long stretches without dark mako exposure. However, I'm not ready to clear you for duty just yet. You're nowhere near ready to return to work. What I'd like to do is discuss some options with you."

"Okay," Nero said, not knowing how else to respond.

"Well, you have at least two options," Shalua began. "First, you could transfer to a recovery facility. There are a number of them in Edge. One of few that offers mako therapy is Healen Lodge. It's very nice there. It would be a calm, peaceful environment. It's mostly former SOLDIERs and others who have suffered adverse effects from mako, so no one would be likely to single you out. I think you'd do well there.

"The second option is to return home with Vincent and Veld. They've told me that they'd be more than willing to host you again for as long as you need. I don't know if that's something you'd be interested in?"

Nero was silent for a long moment, arms unconsciously moving to cross over his midsection.

"There's no wrong answer," Shelke told him gently, nudging his foot with hers. "This is about what you'd rather or rather not. Nobody's gonna be angry or offended. We just want what's best for you; whatever will get you better faster."

Nero took a deep breath and nodded, doing his best to fight the anxiety down. He knew that. His brain knew that. It was still hard to turn off the reflex.

"Do I...do I have to decide now?" he stammered.

"No of course not," Shalua said kindly. "Think about it, and let me know what you decide."

Nero glanced briefly at Veld and Vincent. Vincent gave him a hopeful look.

"This is about what you want, Nero," Shalua's voice cut into his thoughts. "This is your decision. You tell me what you want."

"Okay," Nero said, hoping that everyone would leave so he could think.

He had no idea what he wanted.

After they had gone, Nero thought about what Shalua had said, and what Max had said. The idea of going to yet another new place- no matter how nice- full of strange people and strange rules that he did not yet know and might not be able to comply with made him feel ill. Without his shadows he had no way to defend himself, no way to escape if the need arose. He would be trapped in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people. Every quantity was an unknown. Nero shuddered and swallowed back the acid rising in his throat. No. No he couldn't go to Healen Lodge. He wouldn't.

Despite their first ill-fated attempt at sharing space, Vincent and Veld were at least known quantities. Their house had been the only other marginally safe space on the Surface that he'd known so far. Maybe he was just lonely and desperate. Maybe...maybe he really did want to be in a place where people wanted him around, no matter their reasons or motivation.

It said something that they wanted him back in their house, especially when he was of no obvious use and was likely to be a burden on their resources. Hell, he'd already caused them more than enough trouble, yet they both kept coming back to see how his recovery was progressing. With Shelke and Max, he could understand their concern to a degree. With Veld and Vincent...despite Max and Vincent's repeated attempts to explain blood ties to him, it was still difficult to comprehend that Vincent would find him important or valuable just because they shared DNA.

Everyone kept trying to compare it to himself and Weiss, but it wasn't the same at all. Nero had never known a time when Weiss was not nearby. Weiss had always been there, as had Rosso. Maybe they hadn't always been nice to him, but they would have never let anyone else hurt him. They were a team. They looked out for each other. They knew each other inside and out; no secrets. Vincent was as alien to him as his own lost Mother. Nero could have understood if his Mother had reappeared and wanted to become part of his life. She had done the hard work of carrying and birthing him. Vincent had not even known he existed until… Nero shook his head, not wanting to think about that.

Had he been in Deepground, he would not have been allowed to rest, to think. He would have had to put it behind him and soldier on or else face the wrath of the Restrictors. Maybe it was time to suck it up and forge ahead. If he waited for the emotional wound to heal, he'd probably never do anything ever again.

Vincent and Veld weren't Restrictors, they weren't even his Commanding Officers. They were...safe to a degree. If nothing else, he knew what sort of danger they posed. Besides, there was nothing they could do that could possibly hurt more than this. If they wanted him in their house, wasn't that something? When had anyone ever wanted him just because?

No one had ever cared for him like this before. The hospital had gone above and beyond, but it was the sort of standardized treatment that he was used to- just nicer. Deepground had never spent that kind of time and resources that the WRO and Vincent and Veld had spent on him.

Why? He could not fathom the reason. Shelke had told him a hundred times that it was because he was important, valuable, loved, and not just as a weapon. Sometimes he felt as if he almost understood it, but it was difficult to get his brain around it. Until this point, every small comfort had come with a heavy price. Vincent had assured him again and again that Nero owed them nothing; that the debt was Vincent's to repay. Nero didn't see how this was possible, unless he thought of it as compensation for killing Weiss and Rosso, in which case it was barely a drop in the ocean.

Nero jumped at the sensation of a hand on his shoulder, but there was no one there.

'Peace, child,' said the voice inside his head. 'It is I.'

'I'm not a child,' Nero mentally grumbled. 'I have a name.'

Omega seemed amused. 'Apologies. After several thousand years, everyone seems young.'

Nero had to admit such a lengthy perspective would indeed render everyone young by comparison. 'What do you want?'

'I think the question is what do you want?'

Nero did not answer. Omgea knew perfectly well what he wanted: his family alive and around him. However, that wasn't possible. This hiatus of grief and recovery would not go on indefinitely. He could not live in the hospital, yet he could not go home. His home was gone.

'Is it?' Omega pressed.

'Stay out of my damn thoughts,' Nero retorted. Yet Max had raised the same point.

'I don't know,' he confessed. 'Deepground's gone, and I'm still too weak to go back to the Turks.'

'Your father and his husband would take you to their hearts, if you would but ask. It would be their privilege to care for you.'

'I couldn't,' Nero thought, horrified. 'I couldn't ask!'

'I have not borne witness to the many injustices committed against you,' Omega said, 'yet I have watched your dreams and shared your memories. I can understand your reluctance to trust.'

'Thank you, I think.'

'If you must nurture anger in your heart, bear it toward me. It is because of my bond with Chaos that your life only was spared.'

'I'm not too happy with either of you,' Nero grumbled, 'but there's nothing to be done about it.'

'No-one, not even I, can return your loved ones to you. The power of Life and Death is not mine to wield. If it were in my power, I would restore them to you for you have suffered much in your few years.'

Nero nodded, not knowing what to say to that. Omega's regret felt real, and for some reason, that helped a little.

'...thanks.'

'Will you return, then, to your father's house?'

Nero shrugged. 'I don't really have anywhere else to go.'