Rosie had just violated the most important rule and aspect of her entire mission. What was currently more concerning to her, though, was the fact that she now regretted not violating it sooner.

She had been able to keep Marcus alive by sealing his wounds with nanomaterial to stop the bleeding. She had then tried in vain to replicate Marcus's blood, but despite how accurate it was, his body had seemed to reject it. She knew quite a bit about human anatomy (her mental model was an exact replica, down to almost the tiniest detail) but she had been unable to replicate blood to the extent that she had needed to for him.

The Air Force had arrived only minutes after Marcus had passed out and she had performed her impromptu, ineffective surgery on him and they had stormed the house to find her clutching his unconscious form to her, surrounded by bodies of the attackers and crying so hard that she had barely been able to concentrate on keeping him from bleeding even worse.

Now, she was riding in the back of a Humvee, which was tailing a speeding APC that contained Marcus and the Airmen in the small group who had medical experience. This was the hardest part for her. She had to let him bleed a little. She hoped that her nanomaterial that was replicating his flesh wouldn't be spotted by the Airmen currently operating on him and when he arrived at the hospital, she was going to have to figure out a way to move the nanomaterial without anyone noticing and without killing Marcus in the process.

She wasn't crying at this point; rather a shock had seemed to set in where she was frozen and nearly inoperable. Her T-shirt was also coated in Marcus's blood, something that bothered her immensely.

"Ma'am?" Sergeant Sullivan snapped her out of this trance.

She was thankful that there was someone she had met before on this patrol. She would find out later that Sergeant Sullivan had volunteered his vehicle to be one of the ones that responded to Marcus's call.

"Yes...?" she said weakly, looking up at him.

Sullivan had turned from his spot in the front passenger seat to face her; she was sitting directly behind him.

He handed her back Marcus's small pistol which he had confiscated from her when he had seen that she had possessed it. She had refused for a moment, not wanting to give up something so valuable to Marcus, who had entrusted her with it, but she knew it was the proper thing to do and she had finally acquiesced.

Now, she was puzzled that he would give it back.

"I unloaded the magazine," Sullivan said, showing her the eight bullets in his other hand before he pocketed them. "I'll escort you into the hospital myself. Nobody should bother you about it."

He cocked the slide back which locked in place to signify the weapon was empty.

"Just hold it like this, not by the grip, and leave the slide alone," he said, holding the gun upside down by the slide as a demonstration before handing it to her. "You shouldn't have any problems."

"So, what the fuck just happened, Technical Sergeant?" the young female Airman who was driving the Humvee (and was the only other occupant) asked, keeping her eyes fully on the road as the Humvee shook and shuddered violently with every bump they hit at the speed they were going

"If I had to guess, it was a fucking assassination attempt," Sullivan growled. "Probably what's left of the Column, or something. They found out where he was at and hit him during a goddamn island lockdown when we don't have as many patrols out."

"But why would they do that?" Rosie asked

"Simple," Sullivan said, turning to look at her again. "He hurt them. Bad. And almost everyone on Oahu knows the stories of the Hardy family. People like the Column don't let things like that slide."

Rosie felt tears welling in her eyes again. "He did this to protect me..."

"Yeah, that's what he does," Sullivan replied. "Battle of Honolulu? He saved my ass."

Rosie looked up at Sullivan, who smiled a little. "He's going to be just fine; this motherfucker is impossible to kill."

Though, the man didn't sound at all convinced in what he was saying.

Marcus hadn't needed to save her, Rosie thought as she felt tears stream down her face. If she had just convinced him to stay with her, maybe the Air Force would have gotten there in time to stop the attack in the first place.

If she had just told him how she had known there were men outside the house, or what she was, she might have convinced him to stay. Better yet, if she had committed to violating her orders just five minutes before she had, he at least wouldn't be in the condition he was in.

Dropping the harmless pistol in her lap and burying her face in her hands, Rosie continued crying, mildly irritated with herself that she had restarted crying at all. She was a quantum computer yet she had hesitated for an eternity and Marcus was on the edge of death because of it.

For the seven minutes she had sat in Marcus's closet, it felt as if her Union Core was going to implode. She had done this to him. And it was all because she didn't want to violate the orders she had been given ten years ago.

Before she could stop it, yet another thought occurred to her. If Marcus died, no one left alive would have witnessed what she was. She wasn't able to control this thought and it snuck into her mind before she even realized it.

Even for a picosecond, she may have considered this a viable option. That was far too long a time for her to allow such a terrible thought.

Suddenly, Rosie felt physically ill, which was yet another new sensation for her. She couldn't believe that she, even for barely a moment, had considered Marcus dying to be acceptable, even though his survival guaranteed that she had violated her mission perimeters.

It was all, all of it, simply too much for even her, a quantum computer to handle. All of these thoughts and these emotions; all of the outside stimuli she was experiencing. In the end, she could barely focus on any one thing, instead simply crying.

She decided to leave her emotions turned on, though, because she feared what she might might do if she swtiched them off. As miserable as she was, she at least knew where she stood now, to some degree.

The only thing she really knew for sure was that she desperately didn't want Marcus to die.

The pair of vehicles made it to what Rosie determined was Pearl Harbor-Hickam Joint Air Force and Navel base a few minutes later and they were quickly routed through the gates by the posted guards.

Pulling up the the base's hospital, Rosie was escorted by Sergeant Sullivan into the waiting room, clutching Marcus's pistol tightly to her chest the entire time.

She now sat rigid in one of the basic chairs of the hospital's sparse waiting room, Sergeant Sullivan sitting nervously a few feet away.

No one said a word to her, as nurses and other medical personnel ran this way and that as they admitted the new patient, who, according to what Rosie could hear, was barely alive.

The most difficult part of the night was rapidly approaching.

Rosie now had to calculate just when she could release the nanomaterial plugs (simulating his flesh) she had placed in Marcus's wounds to keep him from bleeding out without any of the medical personnel operating on him noticing and without possibly killing him.

She was nearly certain her crude attempt at first aid had indeed saved his life for the time being, but she had to now clear the way for the people who (hopefully) knew what they were doing and she had to now minimize the chance of anyone else discovering anything remotely strange that could further jeopardize her identity.

Time seemed to be at a complete stop. It took all of Rosie's willpower to keep from fidgeting, something that she hadn't had to consciously prevent often. At least, she noted with a hint of satisfaction, that she was no longer crying. Now she simply felt drained; too shocked and disoriented to even be able to cry. She must have plainly looked it, too, because no one, Not Sergeant Sullivan nor anyone one else even so much as attempted to speak to her.

Rosie waited for another few minutes, before she directed the nanomaterial that was blocking Marcus's wounds to slowly take the form of blood.

This was a delicate balancing act. She hoped that if she did it slowly enough, that the wounds' further bleeding would be quickly noticed and would be firmly sealed by whomever was operating on Marcus, before the effect of removing these stopgaps harmed him further.

Over the next five minutes, Rosie slowly converted all of the nanomaterial attached to him into blood and once it all was, she began to call back each individual particle to her without drawing any attention. She did this in such a way that the minute particles of nanomaterial wouldn't be noticed by a human's naked eye. She also doubted that any human technology anywhere in the world, much less anything located the desolate island of Oahu would be able to detect the oddity of nanomaterial floating about, so Rosie didn't give this a second thought.

Instead, after she had converted all of said nanomaterial to blood, all she had to focus on now was returning it all to her mental model. Marcus's condition was now entirely out of her hands; there was nothing more she could do.

Trying very hard not to resume crying (maybe she wasn't so shocked after all) Rosie spend the next five hours on her task, not acknowledging or speaking to anyone. She was only, after a time, even vaguely aware that Sergeant Sullivan was in the room with her and barely aware of the fact that he left the room multiple times, only to return short periods later.

Wherever Marcus was, he was far enough away where she could hear nothing directly pertaining to him, unless someone happened to discuss it closer to her. She thought briefly about attempting to hack into the hospital's security system, but was afraid that that action might be noticed somehow, especially given how sloppy she feared she would b, given her emotional state. Her position here was currently precarious at best, so, despite being desperate for any updates on Marcus, Rosie decided not to press her luck

Once all of the nanomaterial had been successfully returned to the body of her mental model, Rosie had nothing left to concentrate on other than anything that was standard operating procedures for her. Meaning, she was left with nothing to occupy her mind with except Marcus.

The next hour felt almost as long as the five that had proceeded it.

Fiddling absentmindedly with Marcus's pistol, she was amazed at how something that had seemed so tiny compared to Marcus was so large to her. She was careful to hold it in the way Sergeant Sullivan had instructed her, assuming that this way made it seem as though it wasn't currently a threat. Or perhaps was merely a lessened one. She knew full well how nervous humans could become around firearms.

Rosie was nearly certain her Union Core might just rupture from all of the emotional strain she was under, when suddenly a military Doctor entered the room.

Sergeant Sullivan stood and went to the position of attention as the Doctor (obvious even to Rosie that he was an officer) made his way to Sergeant Sullivan and shook the man's hand.

"Good morning, Sergeant. I'm Doctor Alvarez. You're the one who brought him in, right?"

Doctor Alvarez was a relatively short man with dark, somewhat graying hair, dark intelligent eyes and tanned skin. He wore a look of pure exhaustion and Rosie immediately calculated that this was the man who was just operating on Marcus.

"I know who you are, sir. And that's correct. But this is his friend, Rosie," Sullivan replied, gesturing to her. "She was there when it happened. You should talk to her first."

"Very well," Alvarez nodded gravely, before turning and approaching Rosie, politely stopping a few feet from her. He then seemed to notice that she held a gun in her hands, clasped tightly to her chest and he turned slightly towards Sullivan.

"She's allowed to have that," Sullivan nodded. "It's Marcus's. It isn't loaded."

Seemingly satisfied, Alvarez returned his gaze to her. "Rosie-"

"Is he okay...?" Rosie heard the words leaving her without having consciously summoned them.

Alvarez's lips formed a thin line and he sighed slightly. "Yes. He's currently stable. We lost him twice, but were able to restart his heart both times. He's currently under observation and we'll be keeping him in an induced coma for a little while. We had to give him a lot of blood. Personally, I don't know how he survived."

Rosie felt tears welling in her eyes for a few moments before they began streaming down her cheeks.

"He's known to do that," Sullivan said, smiling a little, relief plainly evident in his voice. "I knew he'd be fine."

"May I see him...?" Rosie asked weakly.

"Of course," Alvarez nodded. "I was just about to ask if you wanted to. Please follow me."

Doctor Alvarez led Rosie and Sergeant Sullivan down a winding series of corridors (that Rosie had mapped to some extent based on the paths of nanomaterial she had traced back to her mental model) past numerous hospital staff, until they finally arrived at a room that was clearly the closest to where they performed major surgeries for the patients in the worst conditions.

Rosie followed Alvarez into the room dreading what Marcus might look like now.

And suddenly, he came into view, laying serenely in a bed hooked up to more machines than Rosie would have guessed possible. He had a tube running into his mouth and he was covered in wires and other assorted tubes that Rosie could only ascertain were instrumental in helping keep him alive. The machines made various beeping noises and one displayed his vital signs, including his pulse and other heart activities. Rosie was mostly aware of how all of this worked but decided right then that she was going to become an expert at it.

His face, though, was what stunned her the most. This was the most peaceful he had ever looked, which was a stark contrast to his condition and where he was. He wasn't having any nightmares, she realized. The medically induced coma he was in must have been a perfect blackout, which she imagined, for him, might just be a blessing.

"This kid just refuses to die," Doctor Alvarez marveled. "I was here after the Battle of Honolulu when he was brought in. It was the same case then, too. We don't know how he pulled through."

"Toughest son of a bitch I've ever seen," Sergeant Sullivan added. "How long do you think he'll be out?"

"We'll keep him drugged and under observation for another two days, at least," Alvarez replied. "After that, we'll just have to see."

"May I stay here?" Rosie asked, looking around the room, which contained a rudimentary bench that she could lay on and a small bathroom where she could keep up appearances of being human. This room had far more than she really needed and she could stay here indefinitely, which she was certainly intending to do.

Leaving Marcus here like this alone was unthinkable to her.

"Rosie," Sullivan began. "We have accommodations being set up for you right now. I figured you'd want to see him but we should really get you to your room. You can come back in the morning."

"No," Rosie whispered, a tear streaming down her cheek. "No, I can't do that. I can't leave him. After what he just did for me?"

Sullivan looked sympathetic, as Doctor Alvarez discreetly observed their conversation.

"Doctor?" Sullivan asked. "Would it be fine if she stayed here for a while? I'm off shift in a minute, but my replacement's on his way. He can always get Rosie to where she needs to go whenever she wants to."

"I don't see the issue," Alvarez sighed. "She just can't bring that gun out of this room without supervision from one of you."

"Rosie?" Sullivan turned to her. "That's the best I can do for you."

"That's fine," she said, not taking her eyes off of the still form of Marcus and clutching his firearm tightly. "There won't be any issues."

"I'll let the charge nurse know," Alvarez said, taking one last admiring glance at Marcus before leaving the room.

Moments later, Sullivan's radio, located on his hip, chirped for his attention and he gestured for Rosie to remain where she was before leaving the room.

Now alone with Marcus, Rosie was frozen to the spot for a few moments, as the beeping and buzzing of the machines provided the only noise in the room. She stood there for a couple of minutes, which felt to her like a complete eternity.

She tried in vain for a little while to quantify what she was feeling, but then attempted to give up, as it seemed to be a total waste of time.

Finally, slowly, as if approaching some sort of imminent danger, Rosie timidly moved to Marcus's bedside, delicately placed his pistol next to him, where he would likely have wanted it and extended her hands, clasping his right hand in both of hers.

And she remained that way, utterly motionless, for nearly fifteen minutes, eyes focused and rarely blinking on his still face.

Finally, a new figure appeared in the doorway.

Rosie looked up to see another male Airman, who was taller than Sergeant Sullivan. He had light pale skin and red hair and he leaned against the door frame casually.

"You must be Rosie," He said, his voice a low pitch. "I'm Staff Sergeant McNeil. Technical Sergeant Sullivan has turned responsibility of you over to me for the night."

He crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, observing Rosie, who imagined she looked miserable, tightly clasping Marcus's hand.

"I know Sergeant Sullivan told you you could stay, but I'm going to be taking you to your assigned room. And I'm going to need to need to confiscate that pistol. I don't know what Sullivan was thinking when he let you keep that."

"But Marcus gave it to me," Rosie stuttered. "I can't let anyone take it."

"I don't care," McNeil said, striding towards her.

"That's quite enough Staff Sergeant."

McNeil froze, only a couple steps into the room as this new voice, a female one with a tone strikingly similar to ice washed over them.

Then, a woman was standing in the doorway, hands clasped firmly behind her back possessing an expression that completely lacked any amusement whatsoever. This woman had dark brown skin and sharp eyes. She stood only around five and a half feet (still towering over Rosie) but by the way she carried herself, she might as well have been seven feet tall.

Everything about this woman was flawless from her composure, to her carefully maintained straight black hair that reached just above her collar, to her perfectly pressed and kept Air Force uniform, to the finely polished sidearm she wore on her right hip. Rosie instantly knew who this was, judging by the name tape on her uniform and what she had heard from the conversation between Marcus and Governor Inouye a few days before.

McNeil looked like he had been hit with a bucket of frigid water. He stood up straight, arms firmly clasped to his sides and remained utterly still.

"I just ran into Sergeant Sullivan," the woman said in her icy tone. "He filled me on on any details I was unaware of. What I am aware of was that he got permission for this young lady to hold onto Senior Master Sergeant Hardy's unloaded firearm directly from Major Watts, meaning it sounds to me like you were about to violate a direct order from a superior."

She strode around until she was standing in front of McNeil. She looked up at him, but from what Rosie was seeing, she was actually looking down at him from a considerable distance.

"Isn't that right, Sergeant?"

"...Yes ma'am..." McNeil finally answered.

The woman lowered her voice to a seething whisper, that almost even made Rosie nervous. "Now you'd best get the fuck out of my sight before I take your fucking head off."

McNeil vanished from the room and Rosie turned her full attention to the woman, who spun smartly to face her and smiled so warmly, that Rosie almost didn't recognize her as the same person who had just so thoroughly dressed down Sergeant McNeil.

"Now that that's out of the way," she said, her voice now full of honey; a mother's tone. "My name is General Josephine Carter and I really need to speak with you."

Cora had never set foot on land before.

Of course, she didn't dwell on the experience; she had a new self assigned mission to complete.

Trudging stealthily along the beach with sand clinging to her dress, Cora made her way towards the coordinates where she had detected the Klein Field.

Leaving her ship body several miles offshore, Cora had been forced to swim to land from there. She would have rather walked across the water using her Klein Field, but she was afraid that would be noticeable by the humans, or perhaps by the very target she was currently hunting. This also prohibited her from removing the water from her dress, but she was stubborn enough that she had continued wearing it, despite how much more difficult it made her to swim and now move about on land, soaked as it was.

She couldn't have looked more out of place, which was another thought that currently eluded her as she crept up the beach and into what looked like a long abandoned neighborhood towards what sounded like a good amount of human activity.

Cora quickly discovered that a sizable military contingent was clustered in and around a house near the ocean. She doubted very much that this was unrelated to what she had detected.

Setting herself up in a position that led to good observation without getting close enough to risk detection, Cora spied on the military personnel and listened, completely fascinated, to what they were saying to each other.

She learned quite a bit.

Author's Note:

Nobody's Fault But My Own, by Beck