A thin layer of paper crunched beneath Vasquez as she shifted her position on the examination table, waiting for the doctor to come in. She sat upright, her knees hanging over the edge, her one foot impatiently hitting against the metal of the table.

In front of her, Hudson sat in the chair where the doctor should have been, slumped low with his sneakers planted on the floor, swiveling in the chair and moving it around capriciously, like a restless child. He checked his watch.

"You don't have to wait with me," said Vasquez. "Who knows how much longer this could take. Come on, you're gonna be late for your first shift."

"I don't want you walking back on your own. Besides, I wanna hear what the doctor says."

"Don't be ridiculous, I can get back by myself. And I'll tell you everything later."

Hudson raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, I'm sure you'll tell me everything." There was sarcasm in his voice and Vasquez scrunched her nose back at him resentfully.

"Just go, man," she said in annoyance.

Hudson looked at his watch again, ignoring her tone. "No… I've still got time."

They sat without speaking, Hudson's chair squeaking as he swiveled, Vasquez's foot continuing to hit against the examination table, the rhythm of increased irritability.

"Maybe you should be the one getting checked out," Vasquez stated, "See what's been causing this foul mood you've been in lately."

Hudson stared at the door, his mouth pulled tight, pretending he didn't hear her.

Just then, the door opened and they both seemed to release a breath of tension.

"Where's Haines?" Hudson asked abruptly when the doctor that came in was someone they had never met before.

"Good morning to you too," replied the doctor sardonically. The man looked to be in his forties, his black hair peppered with gray, unsmiling as he stared down at a tablet. "Haines was your surgeon; she doesn't do follow-ups once you're released." He looked up. "I'm Dr. Grichuk."

The doctor walked over to where Hudson was and stared down at him. It took Hudson a moment to get the hint and get out of his chair.

Dr. Grichuk took a seat in the vacated chair, "So," he began, looking down at his tablet again and then up at Vasquez. "We've got Jenette Vasquez—and company," he added with a sideways glance at Hudson. "You were discharged from the hospital nearly a week ago now?"

"Tuesday." Vasquez nodded as the doctor rolled his chair over to her and began checking her leg, unbandaging it to examine the incision. She answered his questions and showed him her range of mobility, but she felt distracted as she did, watching Hudson as he stood against the wall looking on. For the past three days, things had felt different between them and she wished she knew the reason why.

They made eye contact and Hudson was staring back at her questioningly. "Vaz?" he prompted.

She realized she had missed the doctor's last question, and she returned her attention to the current appointment.

"Phantom pain?" Grichuk repeated.

"Uh, yeah," she confirmed. "I don't get it too often, but when it comes on, it can be pretty bad. But the mirror thing helps."

"Mirror?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah, you know…" Vasquez persisted. "Reflecting the good leg in the mirror to trick your brain into thinking the other one is still there."

"You have a physiotherapist helping with this?"

Vasquez shook her head. "No, just… Hudson." She stared at her former squad partner, her face growing warmer as he looked down, avoiding her gaze. "It really helps, though," she told the doctor.

"Whatever works," replied Grichuk with a shrug. "Okay, Jenette. Everything's looking good, so I'm going to clear you to officially begin rehabilitation. And if all goes well with that, you should be set to start with a temporary prosthetic in about a month's time."

Vasquez stared at him blankly. "A month?" she questioned. "Before I can even start using it? But I'm ready for it now."

"I know you may feel ready for that, but trust me, these things take time," replied the doctor. "You need to give your muscles a chance to strengthen before you introduce a new limb."

Disappointment settled over Vasquez as she considered the timeline: At least a month of rehab before she could even start relearning to walk with the prosthetic. And how long after that would they make her wait until she could have the operation for a permanent prosthetic? How long before she would once again feel comfortable walking on two feet?

As Dr. Grichuk cleared her to leave, Hudson moved to Vasquez's side with the one crutch she was getting accustomed to using.

Grichuk looked around the room in confusion. "Did you leave it outside?"

Vasquez looked at the doctor, perplexed. "Leave what outside?"

"The wheelchair."

Hudson let out a burst of laughter. "You obviously have no idea who you're dealing with, Doc! This badass marine walked all the way here on just one of these!" He held up the crutch for effect, then tossed it to Vasquez.

She caught it easily, hopping deftly down to the floor. She couldn't help but smile. There was something in Hudson's comment—the unmistakable sound of pride—that had made her stomach flutter, a little surge of fleeting joy in hearing him boast about her.

On her crutch, she walked proudly to the door, catching the stunned look that Doctor Grichuk wore.

"So, this means you'll revise my timeline, right?"

.

"You see the doc's face when he realized?" Hudson laughed as they made their way back to their apartment. He seemed in higher spirits than before, clearly accepting the doctor's reaction as a win for the two of them.

The little flutter returned to Vasquez's stomach, a welcomed contrast to the tension she was feeling. She glanced around the hall surreptitiously. She knew that Carmen probably hadn't given up on looking for her yet and was likely still somewhere on Gateway. At any moment she could run into her. The thought of such an interaction was anxiety-inducing.

"Wheelchair," Hudson continued, delivering the word with a scoff. "You never even used one from the start."

"I just hope that means I can get through the rehab stage faster; I can't imagine waiting a month to even start with the prosthetic." Vasquez breathed heavily from the effort of using the one crutch.

"Hey, slow down." Hudson's hands made their way to her shoulders, "I know you're good, but don't strain yourself." He pulled at her lightly, trying to slow her pace. It was the closest touch she had received from him in days.

"It's your first shift. I don't want to make you late," she replied.

Hudson shrugged. "Not worth hurting yourself over a couple extra minutes."

"I can walk the rest of the way on my own. Just run ahead and get your stuff and go," Vasquez insisted.

Hudson's hands let go and he seemed instantly irritated again. "I said it's fine, Vaz! I'm walking you the rest of the way." The words were definitive, leaving zero room for further discussion, making the idea of even simple conversation feel awkward. Hudson looked regretful and Vasquez found herself longing for the days when he would have broken the silence with a dumb or inappropriate joke.

As soon as he opened the door, Hudson quickly grabbed his gym bag and the yet-to-be-worn uniform that hung neatly in a black suit bag.

"You gonna get yourself something to eat?" His voice was softer than before. "There's stuff for salad and sandwiches in the fridge."

"I'll be fine. Go."

Hudson nodded, but instead of leaving, he hesitated, and for a moment they stood together in the doorway. He looked sad as he gazed back at her, his eyebrow dimpled. He seemed taller than usual. "I'm really glad that you're recovering well, Vaz."

As she stared up into his eyes, she wanted to tell him that she wouldn't have been able to do it without him, but the words remained in her head, her voice inexplicably silent.

There was a slight uncertainty as he turned away from her, as though he had considered giving her a kiss and then decided against it.

"I'll see ya."

Vasquez stared at the back of him as he walked briskly down the hall.

Had she been able to express her gratitude for him, would he have smiled, grabbed her around the waist and kissed her like he might have a few days ago? She couldn't help but wonder.

.

Vasquez sat at the counter in front of her mostly uneaten sandwich. The simple ingredients on bread somehow tasted better when Hudson was the one to make it.

Considering they lived in the same two-hundred square foot space, they had spent very little time together over the last few days. Hudson had opted to start at his new security role as soon as possible, so he had spent the past two days prepping for the role, shadowing the other guards, and training at the gym.

He came home tired, would shower and cook dinner for them, falling asleep early, initiating little dialogue other than to ask her how she was feeling and whether she needed anything.

It was clear that things between them were different now.

Three mornings ago, he had woken up different. He had no more sweet words for her, no pecks on the cheek or warm, sweeping hugs. The affection he had once shown for her seemed to be disappearing. She was losing him, she feared, and it hurt that he wasn't telling her why.

Vasquez dropped the sandwich down to the plate and placed a hand to her chest, trying to massage away the relentless pressure that seemed to be building there. But the sensation continued, fed by an overwhelming sadness. Like grief, but different. Heartbreak, her mind told her. This is what it feels like.

His words rang through her memory, "I just need a bit of space. Is that okay? Just some space?"

She had spoken similar words to Drake when her feelings for him had faded. She remembered using the words in an attempt to distance herself from him, needing the freedom of being on her own. But she could still vividly recall the disappointment on his face as she said it.

Now, that disappointment was hers to bear. She finally understood what it was like to be on the other side, to be the one longing for closeness, for a feeling that could not be given. To have zero control over someone else's emotions, or her own.

Vasquez dropped her face into her hand and as she did, a sudden twinge of pain emanated from her missing leg. She immediately looked down, always shocked to feel something so real coming from a place that no longer existed, like some sadistic magic trick.

When it eased up, she sat still, hoping it was just a one-time thing, but then it promptly hit again, longer and more intense. She had been told that stress could trigger episodes of phantom limb pain, so she gingerly hobbled to the bed, knowing that she had to try to relax.

As she laid down, she remembered that it had been Hudson who had told her that, and the thought reignited the sadness in her heart. When she had agreed to let him stay for her recovery, she would have never expected him to be so dedicated to her care. Maybe she should have guessed that Hudson, forever the ComTech, would be predisposed to seeking out information, trying to understand how everything worked, always trying to help. Still, it surprised her how seriously he had committed himself to the role, always making sure she was alright. Even now, as he actively distanced himself from her.

Of course, being the marine that he was, he had taken on the task of looking after her like it was any other mission, fully immersing himself in the role. She suspected that was the only thing that kept him here now: an obligation to finish the job.

Another surge of pain ensued, and she cried out in frustration.

She scanned the room for the mirror, remembering that Hudson had returned it to its place in the bathroom, set atop of the sink, awkwardly leaning against the wall.

Knowing the pain wouldn't be going away by itself, Vasquez propped herself up on one crutch and slowly worked her way to the bathroom, breathing hard. Part of her wished that Hudson was there to help her as he had before, but she quickly reminded herself that she didn't need anyone; she could manage just fine on her own.

But as she grabbed the mirror with her free hand, it slipped on the surface of the sink and out of her grasp. There was nothing she could do to stop it from falling.

As the mirror hit the floor and shattered, a yell of pure emotion escaped her lungs. "Fuuuuck!" Her voice echoed around her as she dropped down to the cold tile in front of the pile of shattered glass.

There, she sat in silence with her pain, her grief, her sadness, and guilt—finally allowing herself to feel it all.

.

Vasquez woke with a feeling of alarm, still on the floor of the bathroom. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep and was unsure of how long she had been out for. Regardless of the time that had passed, the missing leg still twinged with pain, and she cursed as she tried to stand up with her crutch, avoiding shards of broken mirror that lay scattered on the floor.

A noise emanated from outside in the hallway, and she suspected it had been what had woken her. It was the sound of raised voices modulating in a muffled argument. Using her crutch, she moved closer to the door to hear.

"Jesus, you got some nerve following me here! We had an agreement, remember?"

It was Hudson's voice. He sounded angry, yet his hushed tone suggested that he was trying to keep the sound from traveling.

When the second voice came, Vasquez felt a cold sweat sweep over her.

"Yeah, so I lied, so what?! Who are you to set the rules? She's my fuckin' s—"

"Shhh! Keep it down!" Hudson interrupted. "Fine, alright? You win. Just give me some time to prep her for your visit. Give me an hour—"

"Open the door."

"What?! No!"

"Give me the fricken key!"

"Get the fuck outta here!"

"GIVE ME THE—"

The sound of a scuffle broke out in the hall. Knowing she couldn't avoid it any longer, Vasquez threw open the door.

Under any other circumstances, the scene that appeared in front of her might have been funny: Hudson hunched over, her adult sister hanging off his back with arms outstretched, both frozen in mid-movement; a tableau of shock at Vasquez's sudden appearance.

"Jenita!" breathed Carmen, dismounting Hudson and throwing herself at Vasquez. She was tall, her muscular, tattooed arms firmly closing around her, trapping her in a hug. Vasquez felt overwhelmed, her head buzzing with the anxiety of such conflicting emotions. She freed one of her arms and touched her hand to her sister's back tenderly before using it to try to push her away.

Hudson was already there, making sure Vasquez was steady on her crutch as he pulled her sister the rest of the way off. "I didn't bring her here, Vaz!" he said in defense. "She followed me home like a fuckin' stray." Carmen wrestled out of his grasp.

It was so surreal to see Carmen in front of her; her old life clashing with the new. She wished she could just be happy to see her sister, but there was a barrier of hard feelings preventing her from moving forward.

"What are you doing here, Carmen?"

"What do you think?!" her sister fired back, "I had to see you, make sure you were okay. I've been here for a week trying to..." Her eyes traveled down to Vasquez's missing leg, and for a moment, she stood in shock. "Oh my god."

"There. You finally saw me. Happy?" Vasquez turned, moving away a few paces on her crutch, not wanting to see the look of horror her sister wore on her face.

"I-I'm sorry." Carmen stammered. "No one told me, I didn't know."

Vasquez felt the throb of the phantom pains and she rubbed her forehead, fighting through the discomfort. "Look, thanks for your concern and all, but I'm getting on just fine. So, I'd appreciate it if you just"—

"Jen, please, we really need to talk."

"She said she wants you to leave," intervened Hudson.

"Nobody asked you!" Carmen fired back. "I'm not leaving until we talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," replied Vasquez sharply, her agitation mounting. "There was a time when I thought we could fix things between us. But there's too much history there… that time has passed. And I've come to terms with it."

"Oh, so it's all up to you! Just like always! Wise older sister, making all the decisions!"

"Why don't you just give it a rest and let me escort you out?!" Hudson's jaw was tight, his patience with Carmen all but gone. He took her arm before Carmen yanked it from his grip.

"I said lay off, man! Jesus, Jen, you keep around this wannabe-cop as your security detail?" Carmen narrowed her eyes at Hudson, and his face flushed with anger as he glared back.

Carmen switched to Spanish, evidently trying to make it harder for Hudson to understand. "Sé que no estás contenta conmigo…"

Vasquez stared at her sister. Those intense dark eyes, the sincere expression, trying to make things right. She sighed, feeling a heavy regret for the years lost between them.

"And I know it's because of the way I left things between us," Carmen continued in Spanish, "I was angry when I said those things. I was out of line."

Vasquez flinched as her pain escalated. Hudson evidently noticed because he immediately said, "Vaz, you should be resting. Come on."

Carmen turned and it looked like she was going to snap at him again, but Vasquez spoke before she could. "Why don't you take a walk, Hudson? Give us some space."

He stared back at her in disbelief and Carmen looked smug. Hudson shifted his weight and shook his head in defeat before he turned and walked out.

"He's definitely persistent. He must really wanna get with you," Carmen remarked once he had left.

Vasquez disregarded her sister's comment. She moved to the bed, unable to take the discomfort of a standing position any longer. She sat, rubbing her leg as she spoke. "When I first heard that you contacted the USCM, I was so relieved to know you were okay. We could have talked then, and I could have helped you with your situation. Things could have been so different… but you made everything so damn complicated, Carmen!"

"I didn't need your help! I wanted to show you I could manage on my own. I didn't need you to rescue me."

"And how did that plan go?" Vasquez shot back. "Where would you have been without that reference I gave?" She gritted her teeth, pain ravaging her missing limb, replicating the burning of acid, the throbbing of exposed nerves under pressure.

Carmen looked aggravated."Probably a lot farther than I am now! You told them that I wasn't suited for combat! That I had a history of gang-related violence! You have to see how fucking hypocritical that is!"

"I was trying to protect your ungrateful ass!" Vasquez retorted. "You have no idea what real combat is like! What it means to take a life!"

"How do you know? You know nothing about me! You never did!"

As the pain became overwhelming, Vasquez could no longer respond. She hunched forward, her eyes squeezed shut.

Her sister's tone changed to one of concern. "Jenita? What's wrong? Can I help?"

Vasquez shook her head, knowing that the one thing that might be able to help now lay shattered on the bathroom floor. That feeling of hopelessness made the pain even worse. She grunted in agony.

"Jen?!" Carmen was sitting on the bed beside her, a hand awkwardly rubbing her back. But it wasn't her sister that she wanted by her side at that moment.

"Get Hudson," Vasquez choked.

Carmen made a noise like she was about to protest, but then silenced herself and complied, disappearing into the hall.

Hudson must not have gone far, because a moment later, he appeared in the doorway, a look of dismay on his face as he saw her condition, and he was quickly beside her on the bed.

His closeness was instantly comforting, feeling his warm hands on her. "Oh, Vaz," his voice hummed sadly. He bent to look at her face, his eyes asking a question.

"The mirror, I tried to get it earlier, but… it fell," she told him.

Hudson got up and disappeared for a moment and she heard him getting ice from the kitchen. But when he returned to her side, he also held a large shard of the mirror that had miraculously survived, a bath towel held over the sharp edges.

He helped her move into a more comfortable position on the bed, setting up the piece of mirror to reflect the good leg. Vasquez had been so distracted that she almost forgot Carmen was still in the room, looking on from a few feet away.

"I'm no doctor, but maybe some painkillers would help more than a piece of broken mirror," she said brazenly. "Just a thought!"

"Don't you have anyone else you could be pestering right now?" Hudson responded in annoyance. He placed the bundle of ice on the calf of Vasquez's good leg so she could see it reflected in the mirror.

"Again, not a doctor," Carmen said with her hands up innocently, "but pretty sure that's the wrong leg."

Hudson looked up in disbelief, "You gotta be fuckin' kidding—Do you mind?! We managed just fine before you graced us with your presence. Now, scram!"

Carmen breathed audibly through her nose, eyes shooting daggers at Hudson as he turned back towards Vasquez.

But Vasquez gave a weak nod at her sister, "Come back tomorrow and we'll talk."

Hudson snorted. "Yeah, make an appointment next time, would ya?!"

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow," conceded Carmen, ignoring Hudson. Without another word, she left.

Vasquez and Hudson were left in silence as Carmen shut the door behind her. Vasquez winced, moving in discomfort as the pain still lingered.

"You're not focusing," said Hudson and she could tell by his voice that he was annoyed. "Stop thinking about her. Concentrate on this!"

She clenched her teeth, staring into the mirror, focusing on the reflection, the illusion of the ice pack on the missing leg, Hudson massaged the muscles of her calf, and she told herself that he was working the muscles of the other leg, directly where the pain was.

After a few moments, she realized it was working, the pain fading. "It's going away," she said without looking up.

He continued until she confirmed that the sensation was gone completely. Then Hudson removed the piece of mirror and went to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboard, sitting down at the counter.

She watched as he poured the whiskey into the glass, tipped the bottle up, then back down, filling it more. When the glass was nearly full, he looked at it, then reconsidered, splashing its entire contents into the sink and sitting at the counter with the empty glass, his head in his hand.

"Why are you mad?" she asked.

"Because you've been lying to me."

"I just failed to mention a few things."

"No," he replied, turning to her, "You've been blatantly lying. In the hospital when we talked about Carmen, you told me the exact opposite of the truth. And the other day, when I asked you about the transmission, you lied about that too."

"Wait, you knew that transmission was from Carmen?" Vasquez asked, her voice slow and even. Her mind was beginning to put the pieces together.

"Yeah," he said quietly, perhaps knowing where the conversation was heading.

"You watched it?!"

"I opened it by accident!" Hudson said defensively. "It said it was urgent and I didn't want to wake you!"

She eyed him up in suspicion. She could tell there was something else he wasn't telling her. "And that's the only message of mine you opened?"

Hudson frowned and turned away. "I may have looked through a few others.

"So, you went snooping through my laptop, reading my messages!"

"Okay, so it wasn't my proudest moment, but I was just tryna understand! What do you expect when you never tell me a goddamn thing, and the things you do tell me aren't even true?"

"Don't you dare try to put this back on me! Do you think just because you stayed, you're automatically entitled to be a part of my life? I don't owe you every bit of information about myself. I don't owe you anything!"

There was a brief pause as Vasquez's words resonated and Hudson looked hurt.

"Well at least now I'm getting to hear how you really feel… Will make it a hell of a lot easier to leave this fucking satellite."

"Good. You should leave!" she shot back.

He stood still, staring back at her. It was as if he was holding his breath. "Is that what you want?"

"We gave it a try and it didn't work between us, it's as simple as that!"

Hudson gave a nod, then went to the closet and rapidly began throwing clothes into his duffel bag. He grumbled as he changed out of his security uniform, quickly throwing on a t-shirt and jeans, tossing his button-up security guard shirt and trousers roughly onto a hanger until they were the only item of his that remained in the closet.

"So that's it, huh? You're finally going!"

"You clearly don't need me here. I'm gonna be on the first shuttle outta this place, and you'll never have to see me again."

Vasquez felt panic begin to form in the pit of her stomach. Any minute, he would walk through that door and that would be the end of them. She knew that there was still time to make it right—some kind words could still smooth things over—but she couldn't prevent the emotional pain from taking charge, the venom from leaving her lips.

"I never should've let you stay here in the first place!" she yelled. "You never gave a shit about me, the only reason you were here was because you were pathetic and lonely with everyone gone! You only wanted me because I was the only one left you could screw!"

Hudson looked livid. "I wish that was true, Vaz, I really do!" He laughed morosely. "You know, I find it hilarious that for someone so practical, you can be so fucking dense sometimes. You weren't some last resort for me, and you know that—you're just trying to be difficult."

"Are you done talking yet?" Vasquez interjected, "Because I'm really getting tired of the sound of your voice."

"Just one more thing, babe," he said spitefully. "In the hospital when you were drugged, you really did tell me you loved me!"

Hudson paused to let his words sink in, and she felt her face redden, knowing by the way that he said it that he was telling the truth.

"Yeah, that's right," he went on, "tough ol' Vasquez saying she loved someone! Oh, and get this—you cried like a little kid too! I wasn't gonna tell you, I thought I'd spare you from the truth, but now I think I'd rather watch you stew in the embarrassment of being someone with actual feelings!"

Vasquez glared at him, feeling her rage fully rekindled. "Shut up! I'm so sick of you. Just fuck off and get out!"

"I'm outta here!"

"Good! Fuck you, Hudson!"

"Yeah, fuck you."

As Vasquez watched him walk through the door, she was hit with a flash of memory: his hand slipping away, just out of reach as he was violently pulled under the floor. It was not unlike the feeling she had back at the hospital as she was brought in for surgery, her view of him diminishing with distance as she moved further down the length of corridor, her opportunity to make things right growing slimmer until that sliver of open door had shut, and Hudson had disappeared behind it.

.