Tess's POV

Nightfall hits and no help has come.

Matthew's arm is bleeding profusely, and for some unknown reason, this shed does not have a needle. Go figure.

I've sealed off the entrance to the shed just in case, and that may be an entirely stupid idea due to the fact that help could come our way through there, but I am not willing to risk it. The hatch is now covered with the work table upside down, the work bench on top, large pieces of fire wood that I may have to use eventually, and about everything I could find that seemed like it had weight.

And Matthew remains wordless. He doesn't utter a word, makes no sound as he watches the floor with blank eyes.

There is no offerings for food nor water, and I realize that hunting will probably be our last resort.

If Matthew has enough of his sanity, of course.

He moves, finally, after what seems like an eternity. He takes the tarp and dusts it off, only to set it on the ground and lie on it. He turns away from me to face the fireplace, and for once I am thankful. I can't bear to see his distraught face and expect myself to keep it together. It breaks my heart too much, almost to the point where it physically pains me to see his humorless blue eyes. It's like Michael died all over again, but I sense this is different.

Matt was angry, but now, he just seems so...defeated.

I see his shoulders shake, and I wonder if he's crying. I touch my face, now wet with a single tear, and wonder if I'm crying too. I realize later on that he's actually shivering in his t-shirt, and I get two pieces of firewood. I've never built a fire before, and the closest thing I've ever done to building a fire is crashing that plane. Then again, I never even crashed it.

I have it set up, I just don't quite know how to start it. Matt sidles up to me and has a stick in his hand. He rubs it quickly and meticulously, like he's done this before. There's a small furrow in between his brows, and I would think it cute if the situation wasn't so bleak. The blood starts to trickle a bit faster with his movements, and I almost make it stop. But soon, I hear a sizzle and a hint of smoke, and a small flame appears, growing until it engulfs most of the branches.

"Thanks," I murmur.

He throws the stick into the fire and returns to the tarp, sitting up to stare at the blaze.

"Are you hungry?" I say. "I could go look for food. You know, hunt a bit, look for fish in a river, or something."

I see a minute shake of his head, and at that moment, I hear my stomach growl. I settle next to him and put my hand over his. He doesn't make any movement to brush it off, but he doesn't take it either.

"Are you okay?" I ask, expecting no response. But he shakes his head, and a tear drops from the corner of his eye.

And it shatters me.

I hold him to me, and he cries on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around his body as it is racked by sobs. I find myself crying with him, because it is so, so painful to see him this way. I just saw a woman die before my eyes, a woman who never got to be my grandmother.

I run my hand up and down Matthew's back, and I can still feel the elevated scars. I wonder how this boy keeps going. So many things have happened, and he still manages to find some motivation, some incentive for him to move on. He is so brave and fearless in so many ways, and I think that's why it terrifies me to see him like this.

I move so that we're lying on our sides, and tears drip from his right eye, over the bridge of his nose, and down to the tarp. My thumb wipes his tears away, and he closes his eyes.

We cry ourselves to sleep.


America's POV

The next morning, I wake up in Maxon's arms. I was expecting him to be up and alert to search for our children, but somehow, he's still here, lying with his arm around my waist.

I realize he isn't up yet because it's two in the morning. I'm obviously much more restless than he is. He must have complete faith in the guards and Matthew and Tess if he is able to sleep.

Every possible thought wakes me up, and suddenly, fear encapsulates me like a suffocating gag. I stare at Maxon for a while to calm myself. His blond hair flops into his lashes, and I would think him peaceful had it not been for the tiny creases on his forehead.

Even in his sleep, he is not truly at ease.

And here I thought he was fine.

He suddenly squirms a little, and his breathing quickens. He wakes with a start, his brown eyes wide and fearful as he releases me and sits up quickly.

"Max," I whisper, sitting up with him. "It's alright."

He looks at me like he's just realized I'm here. "America," he says. He grabs me and holds me to his arms, as if he thought he lost me. "I miss her. I miss them. I miss him."

I nod with my face buried in his neck. "I miss all of them too," I say, my voice wavering. No, I will not cry.

Maxon takes my face in his hands, and he smiles sadly. "Oh, Ames," he says, kissing my nose lightly, "you don't have to be so strong all the time."

And I lose it. Tears run down my face onto Maxon's hands, and he holds me closer to him again. "I can't lose anyone anymore," I say. "I'm so tired of losing people."

"I know, America. I know."

"Maxon," I say, because there is nothing else to say.

"I've arranged a memorial," he says quietly. "For every important person in our lives."

How does this man keep going? He has lost so many, yet he keeps moving forward, like nothing holds him back.

"Please don't leave me," I whimper. "I can't lose you. Not now, not ever."

Maxon holds me tighter. "Never, darling. I would never leave you. I will stay with you until all the stars diminish to nothing, until the asteroids hurtle towards the sun. Which, as the astronomy tutor said a very long time ago, would never happen."

I laugh weakly, and I have to love my husband's effort to make things easier.

"We'll find them, Ames," he promises, so intently I believe him. "We'll go back to the house tomorrow."

A thought suddenly dawns on me. "Maxon, what about Adele?"

His face drops, and his shoulders sag as if this physically taxes him. Adele was the last parental figure in his life who was actually genetically related to him. Maxon doesn't even have anyone from the Schreave family line anymore. Well, not anyone we know of.

Maxon dries my tears with his thumbs, and I kiss his palm. He slides it into my hair and pulls me closer to kiss me lightly. "We should sleep, my dear," he says, lying down with me. "There's no use in worrying now."

I nod, and I feel myself succumb to sleep, yet I know Maxon will not be able to sleep anymore.


Well, that was depressing as hell. Um, I should be writing for school, but naw. Essay's aren't liberating. There's no creativity required and it freaking sucks.

QOTD: How's school?

Answer to previous QOTD: My guilty pleasure is chocolate/chocolate-covered fruit. Mm.

Sorry about not being able to answer reviews. I apologize deeply.

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Love ya!- AcademicGirl