This is why chapter-a-day didn't work. These chapters are fricking huge.

This is the point where things start coming to light but it's also the part where things become more complex. Mind the warnings and trust me. It's gonna be okay.

(Also, tell me how you feel.)

Enjoy.

The moonlight rustled the water as the waves chopped against the shore, spreading white drops of ice across the warm sand. They reached up to nip my bare feet, and my toes curled in; behind me, the desert breath stung my neck, and before me, the chill of the water drew me in. I stepped forward, letting the water envelop my ankles and then my knees, the sand dropping off into rough, rocky darkness.

I waded out farther, feeling the current snagging at my arms, running its teeth against the soles of my feet. The cold made my entire body shake with such violence that everything around me rattled. The rush of the water filled my ears, and I was pulled along with it. The rocks became slippery with moss, and wherever I tried to catch a hold, the current would pull me farther. I started to surge, my feet continuing to slip along the bed, continuing to drop until my head barely made it past the surface.

Dirt and grime stung my eyes as I tried to keep my head afloat, surrounded by nothingness. My arms grew stiff with the cold. I coughed up water and blood, rocks raking against the inside of my chest, cold driving knives into my fingertips and the soles of my feet.

They were coming. Up from the darkness below me, grey creatures slowly drifted toward the surface, their sparkling eyes gaping at my kicking feet. I tried to calm, tried not to make too much noise, taking deep breaths and plunging my head under to watch them. They began a slow circle around me, jaws opening and closing, eyes trained and narrow. They glided through the water like birds, air rising like smoke from their nostrils, teeth glistening.

Suddenly, I was yanked under. One of the creatures had bitten down on my leg, and I could see the blood around me as he pulled me down, dragging me towards the rocks. I kicked against his head, but his jaws were iron, and I couldn't break free. I struggled to see through the funnel of blood and bubbles and inky, black water.

The beast brought me to an enclave of rocks, pushing me under and spitting me up again. My torso was thrust up into an opening, and I desperately grabbed onto whatever there was to touch. I felt my hand snag something, and I pulled myself up, coughing and sputtering out water from my mouth and nose. My leg was mutilated and bloody, but I managed to crawl up the rough bank on my elbows, crying with pain as the rocks sliced into my palms and wrists.

I was surrounded by stone on all sides, trapped inside a cave with no sign of an exit. I got as far away from the watery opening as I could, but as I met the wall, it moved around me. The feeling struck me with nausea.

I glanced up. The entire ceiling was pulsing and wriggling, covered in gnawing, clicking insects, glowing a yellowish green that filled the cavern. Their light illuminated blood, bones, and leftover flesh littering the floor; fingers, ears and tongues, strands of hair, skulls snapped in two, full human jaws and heads missing them. More of the yellow bugs were filling the crevices of the carcasses, and I could see their white larvae pouring out of the bones and the pieces surrounding me. I quickly kicked the nearest away, shrieking and trembling with fear.

To my cries, the bugs flew up into the air, buzzing around and pushing themselves against my face. I covered my mouth and nose, but they still bit against my hands and tried to sqirm themselves into my ears, considering me just another one of their human meals. But there was a sloshing sound from the water, and soon the bugs retreated back toward the ceiling of the cave, leaving me with their larvae alone on the ground.

The water convulsed and shook, parting to reveal the head of one of the creatures. Its sea-glass eyes gleamed, shimmering with greed, and it threw itself forcably from the water. It landed on its belly on the rock, its body changing shape before my eyes. Its fins gripped the rocks with slimy fingers, its jaws slimming down into the profile of a man, his great silvery belly rising from the ground, a pronounced spine cracking as it stood upright.

I pushed away from it as hard as I could, but it crept up at me, slowly, relishing in every step. I pressed against the wall, now free of the bugs but oozing with blood and waste. The beast was upon me, his slimy hands sliding across my skin, pinning me against the ground. His tongue left a stream of residue from my neck to my mouth, tasting me, vibrations and groans growing out of his chest. I was sick with horror, scraping my nails against his rubbery shoulders, trying to kick him off or scrape through his skin, but I was helpless, pinned against the stones.

His teeth sank into me, and I could feel my muscles tearing apart, blood vessels burting and skin peeling back, his teeth only going in deeper. Pain slowly melted into numbness, the fear finally fading into a buzzing radiation, the glow of the insects and their clicking teeth filling my ears.

My arms were covered in blood. We had several bad injuries that night, and the blood had caked my shoes to the point that I could feel my feet sloshing in my boots. My shirt and trousers were ruined, drenched in fluids and sweat. The infirmary was filled with sleeping and groaning soldiers, recovering from injuries all along the scale of intensity. I stripped the disgusting gloves off my hands and replaced them with another pair, heading back into the assessment room.

Sholto had insisted that he remain there rather than take up a bed in the infirmary. There were three other patients there, two asleep and the third recieving her latest layer of bandages from Eddie Hawber. I gently brushed past him to get to Sholto, sitting with his back angled by his pillows, his eyes fogged over with thought.

"Has someone already seen you?" I asked. I glanced around for a patient sheet, but with the influx not all of them had gotten done.

He glanced up at me. "Yes. I just need a redressing."

"I was going to do him after I finished with Olivia." Eddie said, looking over.

"I'll do it." I reached over to grab the extra roll of medical gauze and set it on the table beside Sholto. "You need to sit up."

He did so, leaning forward onto his elbows while I gently stripped off the temporary layer of gauze that Macie had dressed him with when he first came in. Underneath were several shrapnel gashes littered around his left shoulderblade. The larger ones had already been stitched, but were now beginning to ooze. I took the antiseptic from Eddie's supplies and put a bit on my glove, beginning to lather it generously around Sholto's exposed back, feeling the warmth of his skin permeating through the fabric of my gloves.

We said nothing to each other. My heart was burning just to be near him; when we had lost contact with his unit, we had all the reason to believe he had been killed. The troops were out-of-contact for three excruciating hours until reinforcements could reach their position, and even then, they only escaped by the skin of their teeth. We had prepared the med ward for the worst, and we got the worst. I doubted the blood stains would ever make it out of the floor, and I doubted that I would ever be able to wash out the stabbing terror that I had experienced when those radios cut out.

Sholto watched me, his glass eyes running over every inch of me while I avoided his gaze. Yes, I was angry. I was furiously angry, so angry that I had to be careful not to press against his back while I was spreading the antiseptic. I knew I had no right to be, but somehow that made me even angrier. Sholto and I had become closer. Much closer. And I didn't realize just how much closer until I thought I had lost him. I was sick. I was beside myself. But now, I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

I closed up the antiseptic and turned to return it, only to catch sight of Eddie staring intently at his patient. I had already known that the two had been involved, but I had never seen much evidence for it. Now they hovered a breath away from each other, Olivia nearly in tears and Eddie seeming even more serious than usual. He turned to me behind his tiny spectacles. "Do you...?"

"Your business, your problem," I waved him off and grabbed the tape.

Eddie immediately began kissing Olivia, and I turned back to my own patient before things became too awkward. Sholto blinked at them, then glanced at me, seeming a bit confused, but I refused to answer him at all. Soon enough the pair had gone, leaving only Sholto and I and two other sleeping soldiers. I was grateful and spiteful at the same time.

I spread the bandages across the affected area, and Sholto turned back to look at me again. "John."

I had no desire to talk to him, but I didn't want to seem disrespectful, either. "Does this hurt?"

"No." He kept watching me. "Why are you angry?"

I tsked. "Lean forward a bit more."

He did, looking forward again. I reached back for the tape, gritting my jaw as I began.

"I thought you were dead."

He turned his head. "You can't possibly be blaming me for that."

I gritted harder. "I thought you were dead, dammit."

Sholto said nothing. I finished the taping and started on the gauze, reaching up around his chest in order to get the bandages all the way around his torso and shoulder. He wasn't watching me anymore; his eyes had found the patients on the other side of the room, sidetracked by the shadows and the smell of antibacterial cream. A few people were beginning to clean in the other room, burning some extra energy before trying to sleep. I knew it would be a hard night for everybody, but we all had our ways of dealing with the stress. For some, it was to clean. For others, it was to rest. For me, it was to redress wounds and write up patient sheets that never ended up getting done.

As I finished, he stretched around to make sure the bandages would stay in place, then swung his legs off the cot. "You should stay in the ward for the night, Sholto." I warned. "That way we can make sure your wounds are redressed tomorrow morning."

"I'll come back tomorrow morning." He said. "I'm going."

"As your doctor, I in-"

"You should come with me."

I blinked up at him, and he responded with a straight expression, his eyes echoing with the request.

Rage bubbled up in my chest. "Four hours ago, you were dead. You know what that means, right?"

He started to speak, but I cut him off.

"No, fuck it. You obviously don't."

He turned his shoulders toward me, his brow furrowing. "W-"

"I'm sorry, Major, but as soon as you invite me to your bedroom we're no longer on professional terms." I spat, careful to keep my voice from carrying. "You obviously don't understand how horrified I was, Sholto. How worried I was about you. Consider this an enlightenment."

"We're on the warfront, Watson." He bit back. "You can't possibly be angry at me for doing my job. I didn't come here to entertain your pathetic whims."

"I never asked you to." I snapped. "But could you get out of your own head for five fucking seconds and acknowledge that you are not the only person here who is trying to get by."

"Oh, please. You're a bloody doctor. What authority do you have to tell me that when I'm on the fucking battlefield actually accomplishing something."

"Just because I'm not running around getting myself fucking shot at doesn't mean I'm not fighting a war." I hissed. "But while I'm back here worrying about your fucking life, all you care about is yourself. It's always about you, always about what you do and what you need and what you expect you deserve from me. Real soldiers fight for their country. You seem like you're just fighting for yourself."

Sholto's face twisted, his features becoming more prominent, his bright eyes narrowing and sparking with anger. "Don't you fucking say that to me."

"You're a selfish bastard," I snarled.

He became dark, and the room faded around him, becoming a thin tunnel with him at its face, his fists balling at his sides and his chest becoming fuller and fuller. His nostrils flared, jaws exposing glistening white teeth. Yellow insects pulled out from the cracks in the ceiling, lighting his skin with a sick yellow pigment, draining it of its health, becoming slippery and slimy, blood covering his hands and his arms. He overwhelmed me, throwing me against the ground, and pain raced through my side, his teeth digging into the soft flesh of my neck, shrieks curling from my lips and mingling with his breath.

Pulsating heat began in my stomach and spread outward, causing my limbs to curl against themselves. I thrashed and pulled at him, trying to get him away, kicking and heaving, feeling my head spin until I could hardly stand it anymore. Darkness swirled with yellows and greens, flashing images of gunfire and dripping blood, stains across the floor of the med ward and my own bed sheets, rubbed off from my hands and feet, my socks soaked with blood, streaming down my face and neck. It was surrounding me, and it was cold; I was wading in it, coated in it like thick tar, slowing my movements, thrusting me back into the light.

"John, wake up."

I could still feel his hands on me, gripping my arms, and I desperately kicked away from him. I briefly heard an umph as my heel connected with his side, and his hands loosened. I pressed myself against the headboard, illuminated by streaks of blue rain. The yellow paint had faded into a sick gray. My heart and head were pounding, and my mouth tasted like blood. I slumped against the bed, gripping my arms against my chest and struggling to breathe.

"A-ahh, fuck," I coughed, pressing my palm against my breast. "F-fuck,"

"What do you need?"

His voice nearly sent me into another frenzy. Tears flooded my eyes and I pitched forward, coughing invisible water out of my throat. I was already feeling lightheaded, and if this continued much longer, I was afraid I would pass out. "Med," I heaved, folding myself over. "Meds, i-in the-" I hacked, knitting my shaking fingers in with my jumper. "F-fuck,"

"Duffel?" He leaned toward me. "Your meds?"

I nodded, closing my eyes tightly. I heard him stand, and I latched onto the sound of the duffel unzipping, leaning back against the headboard. He knocked one of the tablets into his hand, offering it to me alongside the water-bottle I had left beside my bed. I swallowed it with some difficulty, having to press my hand against my mouth to keep from vomitting it up again. I then took a short drink from the bottle to cool my stomach, settling back against the pillows and willing myself to calm down.

As my heart rate slowed, the room became quiet again, only the pace of my breath upsetting it. Sholto was seated beside me, watching carefully as I slowed, his eyes uncharacteriscally soft. I could feel the warmth of his hand, although it rested still a few inches from mine on the bed. My jumper had fallen a bit off my shoulder in our wrestle, and it somehow made me feel incredibly exposed, having my neck hanging open to the night air. But he didn't seem to notice. His eyes were on my eyes, and nowhere else.

I rotated my jaw, meeting his gaze cautiously. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." He shifted. "How are you feeling."

I took a deep breath. "I'll get better."

He nodded. "Do you want more water?"

I took the bottle, carefully lifting it to my lips and drinking in small sips. I then handed it back, and he set it on the bed-table. There had never been a time when I was more thankful for the Xanax kicking in so quickly. My stomach still felt a bit off-center, but my lungs returned to semi-normal capacity within a few minutes, and my hands stopped shuddering. However, it was replaced with a jittery sort of feeling close to soreness. I reached up to correct my hair and jumper, then let my head slide deeper into the pillows.

Sholto was still there, still watching, looking concerned. He set his arm against the edge of the bed. "You were talking in your sleep."

Dammit. "Oh."

He nodded, and in the dim light I could see his grief. "It was me, wasn't it."

I closed my mouth. One of my heartstrings was plucked, and that meant that I wasn't going to be sleeping until after this conversation was finished. I moved into a more comfortable sitting position, leaning halfway against the pillows and watched him. He turned toward the window, watching the rain run across the glass, his brow knitted up into a pained expression.

"Sholto," I started.

"I know it was." He said. "I knew it even before you left. I did this to you."

"No, Sholto."

He looked at me. "Don't lie to me." He said.

"I'm not lying to you."

"This is my fault."

"Sholto."

I reached out to touch his arm. Somehow, it wasn't as electric as I had imagined it'd be. He just glanced down at it, unsure of how to respond. I held it there, leaning forward a little to catch his eye again, drawing it up to meet mine.

"I have an illness. You're not responsible for an illness."

"I mistreated you."

"You-"

"No. I mistreated you."

I bit my cheek. "There were plenty of other factors."

"I understand if you want to move past it, John," He said, "But don't pretend like it didn't happen."

It hurt, but I nodded.

He let his head sag toward me, looking down at my hand on his arm, his eyes flicking back and forth. I could feel his guilt like a stone in my chest, and it grieved me. I could only imagine the grief he felt, first believing that he was somehow invalidated out of helping his friend, and second believing that he had somehow caused his other friend to be invalidated. I knew the thought would crush me, but I hadn't been forced to recieve the public punishment for a dozen horrendous deaths I wasn't responsible for. It made my head spin, and I tightened my grip on his arm, letting my fingers curl and brush gently against his skin.

"Look, Sholto." I leaned in. "What you did was wrong, but I've forgiven you. You know that. I told you that."

"And that's the reason why you wake up in a panic," He said, "Shrieking my name."

"It's just because you're here."

"Oh, good. I feel much better."

"That's not what I meant."

"Maybe I should leave, then. If my being with me makes you this anxious."

I squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a breath. I was trying, but the stress was too much, and my lungs were starting to fail again, even against the Xanax. Sholto noticed this immediately and pulled his arm away, helping me settle back down, leaving his hand hovering on my shoulder. I swallowed hard. I couldn't fall back into panic now, that would just prove Sholto right, and I would never be able to repair what that would break. I had to get past this.

Letting my eyes slide open again, I moved my hand up to grip Sholto's. His eyes flickered to it, then back to my face, searching it for any sort of negativity, but I put my chin against my chest and looked back.

"Listen to me," I whispered.

He leaned foward a bit more, bracing himself beside my arm.

"You hurt me." I said.

"Hurt you," He repeated.

"You were angry, and you were wounded. You were dealing with grief, war, and loss all at once, and you had no way to deal with any of it except to take it out at something, at someone. You... pushed me around, shouted, hit me, threw me into tables and counters and cabinets, knocked me to the ground, shoved me, slapped me, and said all kinds of derrogatory things to me. And, Jesus Christ, I couldn't have lived without you."

His eyes went cold as stone, his lips parting just enough.

"I knew that you didn't mean any of it. I knew that you cared about me. Alright? I knew that you were better than what you did to me."

"Don't talk about me like I'm worthy of respect," He said.

"You weren't." I replied. "You deserved no respect for what you did to me. You have no excuses. But that period didn't last forever, and you changed. You became better. You are not the same person who did those things to me. I can see that. Why can't you?"

He looked at me, broken. "Because it's not true."

I gripped his hand tighter, brushing my thumb across his fingers.

Lightning briefly illuminated the room with harsh whiteness, and thunder clapped overhead. I felt Sholto tense up, then he glanced toward the window, listening to the soft pattering of the rain on the glass. I could see the scars trailing down his face, deep-set and knotted with pain, and for a moment I considered my own scar, on the front of my shoulder and its twin on the back. Both of us had left that battlefield changed not only externally, but internally. But I could recognize Sholto, even past his scars. I wondered if he could recognize me, too.

I could feel the Xanax flowing again, and the time of night began to catch up with me. Sholto turned down, running his eyes along my face. "Do you want me to stay here for the night?" He asked.

"That's not necessary," I replied, my eyes drooping. "I should be good until the morning."

He nodded, but was still hesitant to move. "I'll wait until you're asleep, then."

"Thank-you, James."

Another bolt of lightning, and thunder again shook the air. Sholto's hand gripped my shoulder, and I gently moved my thumb across. Almost immediately I felt it loosen, and then, there was the electricity. But it wasn't shocking or painful. It was a warm blurring of my senses, an easy chemistry that put my mind at ease and uncoiled my stomach. My eyes slid closed, and my breath stilled.

I was in the water. I was struggling, kicking my feet, bleeding from my mouth and nose. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my head above the water. You were nowhere in sight, nowhere in mind, and I was alone, surrounded by darkness and huge, slippery creatures following my scent. But the cold began to change. The desert breeze now reached me, and it filled my lungs. The creature slowed its circle, and I watched it, letting my kicking calm, and as it did, my head began to sink. Water poured into my chest, dead silence filled my ears, and it was morning.

I feel irrational, so confrontational. To tell the truth I am getting away with reviews.

(Tell me how you feel.)

Next update Thursday.