A/N: So, writer's block has apparently finally released me. :) I'm sorry for the long wait. The first part of this chapter has been sitting on my computer since I last posted, but I've only just worked out how to move on from there. Hopefully, I won't ever leave it so long again!

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognise.

-o-O-o-

Alex felt his heart stutter in his chest, and for one second everything seemed to stop. He had known Steve wasn't doing well. With moans coming from his room at all hours of the day and night, it was impossible not to. Snake and Graham had been grilling Emily relentlessly on the local area, specifically hospitals, in preparation of a raid for the materials the nurses needed.

"Is he…?" asked Alex hoarsely, unable to complete the question for fear of the answer.

"They don't think he will survive the night," said Tom, quietly.

Alex's eyes fell closed, guilt heavy in his chest and grief weighing on his soul. Bonds forged in battle were strong, even when they were fought against every step of the way.

A door opened.

"He wants to talk to you," said a female voice, quietly. "He hasn't got long."

A hand softly tugged at his elbow, and Alex finally opened his eyes. Tom was standing in front of him, his eyes reflecting the same grief Alex felt, his head inclined towards the door where one of the nurses was standing.

"Come on," he murmured, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Graham is already through there."

Alex let himself be led towards Steve's room.

Graham was clasping Steve's hand as they entered, his face tense and solemn, clearly showing his helplessness in the face of Steve's breathing.

"Alex," whispered Steve, his voice strained, "Tom. You came."

"Of course," said Tom, hastening to the side of the bed. Alex delayed, guilt halting him in his tracks, momentarily. If he had been more firm with them, not let them come here, then Steve might not be dying now.

But now was not the time for that. Steve needed him.

Quickly, he crossed the room and sank to his knees beside Steve's head, on the opposite side of the bed to Tom and Graham.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured.

"Not your fault," rasped Steve. "Knew you'd blame yourself." He turned to Graham. "Don't let him," he instructed, before collapsing into the pillows.

"Been an honour to serve with you guys," he said. "I- I-"

Alex swallowed. He wished he could say something to make it better, but nothing would.

Perhaps, if he were religious, he could murmur platitudes about paradise and the afterlife and how they would see each other again. But he wasn't. None of them were. As far as they were concerned, this was the end.

"You were a good soldier," said Tom. "A good fighter. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

"And I wouldn't have made it this far without you four," said Steve. "'Specially you, Gray. Guess we can't go back to Durham after this, after all, huh?"

"Guess not," said Graham, with a watery grin.

"Wish I could see the end of this. But I know you'll beat the bastards. You'll show them, 'Lex."

"Promise," said Alex, gently squeezing his shoulder.

Steve nodded once, then went limp.

Tom stiffened, but Alex found a pulse, weak though it was.

The three of them sat in silence, until the dawn came and illuminated Steve's waxy pallor. He had died in the darkness.

-o-O-o-

Steve's death changed things irrevocably for the Brits. He was buried with no funeral and no coffin in the small patch of land to the rear of the house, behind a clump of shrubs. They couldn't mark the grave for fear of drawing attention. Not even the bare earth had been left alone to mark his passing, the fresh grave carefully concealed with leaf mulch and pine needles.

It had just been the nine of them, plus Emily, standing on the edge of the grave silently whispering their farewells, but it had influenced everyone. Even the men who had had little or no contact with the soldier were subdued.

Only Yassen seemed unaffected. Sometimes Alex hated him for that.

Apparently, Yassen didn't care, seeing as how he had been staring at Alex for the last ten minutes.

"What?" growled Alex, finally having had enough. "What do you want?"

"I was just wondering when you were going to snap out of it," mused Yassen thoughtfully.

"Snap out of what?" asked Alex, his voice flat, with a clear warning to tread very carefully held in each syllable.

"This ridiculous show of emotion," said Yassen, not intimidated in the slightest.

"A ridiculous show of emotion?" snarled Alex, going from irritated to enraged in a fraction of a second. "One of my closest friends just died! Not all of us are heartless bastards!"

"People die," snapped Yassen. "You were trained to be an assassin. You know this. You cannot let grief debilitate you, as you have been."

"Fuck you," hissed Alex, rising to stalk out of the room.

"Fine," called Yassen. "Be like that. And when the rest of your friends die because you cared more for the dead than the living, I'll tell them it's all okay, because Steve was your friend, shall I?"

With a roar, Alex flung himself across the room at the Russian.

The fight was brutal, with Alex's blows guided by training and powered by rage, and Yassen holding nothing back. He could not, if he wished to force Alex to back down.

But anger could only get him so far, and within minutes, Yassen had Alex's back pressed firmly against his chest, arms pinioned to his si

"You're making mistakes," commented the assassin. "It should never have been this easy for me to defeat you."

"Let go of me," growled the teen.

"No," said Yassen, calmly.

"Let. Go."

"No," repeated Yassen.

Alex gave a helpless little snarl and shook himself, futilely trying to loosen Yassen's grip, before he slumped in defeat.

"It's been a week, you know," said Yassen softly.

"What?"

"Since Steve died. It's been a week."

Yassen could feel the ripple of tension travel up Alex's back. It would have been unnoticeable had Yassen been further away. It was one reason that this position was perfect for this talk. He could pick up on subtle signals as well as offer comfort. Slowly, he lowered both of them to the floor.

"No it hasn't," whispered Alex.

It also made him rather hard to ignore. In that last comment, Alex had looked as if he would rather not say anything at all.

"Yes," corrected Yassen, gently. "It has. They want to go home, Alex. They want to be able to mourn their friend in peace. And they can't do that until you get your act together and finish the job."

"I can't do this," whispered Alex.

"Yes. You can."

"I can't. Steve would never have been here if it weren't for me. He could still be alive. How can I…?"

He trailed off as language failed him. Yassen wasn't surprised. Alex hadn't said a word all week, except in response to a direct question. Even Matt was worried about him, although Yassen carefully hadn't mentioned that.

"Steve joined the army to serve his country," said Yassen, deliberately keeping his voice low and calm. "Even if he had never met you, he could still have ended up here. And even if he didn't, he could still have died in the war. He wasn't just here because of you, Alex."

"How do you know?" asked Alex, his voice choked with tears. "You barely knew him."

"So tell me about him," said Yassen, gently rubbing circles on Alex's shoulder.

Alex took a deep, shuddering breath and began to talk.

-o-O-o-

A/N: So what did you think? Review and tell me, please? I'll update as soon as I have the next chapter written!