It's done! After what felt like years it's finally done!

For those who don't know: this is the sequel to 'Breathing Space'. What happens 'Breathing Again' follows right after the first part, so you might want to read it first.

And once again, thanks to the wonderful KittyBits for helping me with the plot, encouraging me and killing mistakes the best she could. All mistakes left are my own.

This is Slash, just so you know.

But anyway, I hope you'll have fun!

You open your eyes and the first thing you notice is white. Blinding whiteness, everywhere around you.

You blink and the second thing you notice is warmth. Not the dry heat you remember, the air that burnt your lungs with every taken breath. This warmth is actually… well, it is warm and it feels good. Not too hot and not too cold, and it just feels right. Surreal but right.

The third thing you notice is silence. And that silence is deafening. It is absolute. There is nothing but silence, and it seems so ironic when you think about how loud exactly this silence is to you. You almost want to try and keep your ears shut just to block it out somehow. Which is ridiculous, of course. How would you want to turn off silence? How would you want to make it any more silent than it already is?

You can't. It is that simple.

And for a terrifying moment you are scared. So unbelievably scared. You don't feel your body, you don't feel pain, there is nothing – just fear and silence and warmth and whiteness. You are scared that this moment will pass and that the next moment will come and that you still won't feel anything. You are so scared that you really might have died.

…'re not 'llowed to die.

And with that, something in you just clicks, you don't know what it is – but it works, and with a heartbeat like a drum beat the world comes crashing down on you.

The blinding whiteness dissolves into a white ceiling and a lamp that sends off cold fluorescent light (which is reflected by white walls, probably). Your body makes its way back to your consciousness and feels heavy, and the warmth comes from a blanket draped around you up to your chest. The silence disappears completely – now there is your own raspy breathing, the the beeping of a heart rate monitor connected to your right forefinger and a tiny recurring metallic clicking noise.

And you feel pain. It simply hurts everywhere, and for a split second, you think, it is almost wonderful. Because when it hurts, it means you are probably still alive.

Your chest hurts and your lungs hurt and breathing itself hurts. You have a nasal cannula under your nose and it makes it a bit easier. For a moment, you try to just breathe while staring at the ceiling and blinking to come back to your senses. Come on. It cannot be that hard, pull yourself together.

But it is hard. You are tired and your eyes fall shut time and again. The soft clicking lulls you back to sleep and you want to give in and just float away once more.

"-eid?"

There is something in the back of you mind that won't allow you to doze off again, though. It fights for attention and it is the only thing that makes your eyelids flutter, because you want to open them and they want to remain closed. Your head dips to the left a little and you blink while you try to focus, eyes settling on to your hand. At least, you think it is yourhand. It is pale enough to be your hand and it is close enough, too, and it looks like it belongs to you.

Except for… oh, you don't know. Something seems off. Something is not right. But what? You move your fingers and it hurts a little. A muscle in your face twitches and the additional oxygen is somewhat cold when you breathe it in. It takes you entirely too long to realize it, but then you get it and it sends a chill down your spine.

There is a needle in the back of your hand.

The world came crashing down on you mere moments ago, and in an instant it shifts and tilts and you feel a whole new kind of dizziness. There is a needle in the back of your hand. Your head starts spinning and you clench your fist and it hurts because there is a needle in the back of your hand! There has never been a needle in the back of your hand.

"Sweetie?"

Never.

Morgan is always there to watch over you and to make sure that this doesn't happen. He protects you from your past as good as he can when you cannot do it yourself, and he takes care of you whether you want him to or not. He always did. But not now, not this time. Because while you obviously are snatched away from the jaws of death, maybe Morgan has not been that lucky and will never be around again to make sure there won't be a needle in the back of your hand.

The clicking noise dies away and the beeping of your heart rate monitor speeds up as does your breathing. Your movements are not exactly slow but jerky and stiff. Tubes block your arm and you have to struggle to lift it. When your fingers reach the patch that keeps the needle in place, almost touching it (except for the pointer with the heart rate monitor to it), there is another hand, a foreign hand covering yours.

You can… not think.

You cannot think. You register shiny dark red fingernails and a ring with a big blue stone or a flower, and you shove that hand away. Whatever it takes, you will get rid of that needle. You have to. You don't want to… please, not again, just…

"Reid, everything's alright, no one's gonna hurt you." The voice is high and soft and familiar, sometimes reminding you of hot chocolate with a marshmallow on top.

But it is not about getting hurt, it is about… oh please, no. No. Your eyes sting with desperation.

A second other hand appears, still with dark red nails, and holds your left hand. Your own nails scrape across the foreign skin. A third hand emerges from the other side of your bed and grasps you right arm, the grip firmer than on your left. Both your shoulders touch the mattress again. You stare at the ceiling, breathing hard. It hurts and you know you should slow it down but you can't.

You make a sound, something between a frustrated cry and a huff and a sob. "Take it off…" This has to be your voice. It sounds hoarse and scratchy, but who else would say what you just heard? "Take it off, please, I don't want it, I don't want it, just – "

"Reid, now calm down!" It is not only a third hand but a third voice as well. Strong. Assertive. Just like its grip. You have known it for years and you know that you can trust the person whom it belongs to.

Right now, though, you don't care – Morgan has not been here and he is the only one… he is the only one. You try to free your arms, and it takes both hands on your left and only one hand on your right to hold you in place. The blanket slips and your legs jerk. A sharp pain shoots from your knee right to the back of your head. It doesn't stop your attempt.

"Don't force them to sedate you." The words are spoken calmly but they sound sharp nonetheless.

A last jolt makes the bed beneath you shake and you turn your head without seeing anything. "Take it off!," you hiss through gritted teeth, nearly screaming, and for a second the whiteness seems to return. You can feel your eyes start to roll in the back of your head and it makes the skin between your shoulders crawl. Then, suddenly, all of that is gone and things snap into focus and you realize it is Hotch who is standing there next to you, holding your right arm just firm enough to not make it bruising.

You can trust him. Trusting him has saved your life more than once and he has proven to be worth it. He wouldn't do anything to deliberately harm and you know that. You can trust him and you know that. So do it. Trust him!

"Please," you whisper, your head lying heavily on the hospital pillow. Please help me, please don't do that to me again, just please, Hotch. If your expression doesn't give you away, your voice certainly does. Pathetic.

But you cannot do this alone, not with Hotch against you. Though he will surely understand, because sooner or later Hotch always gets what you mean, it is different with him. You have never been able to be as open with him as you are with Morgan. With anyone. Only Morgan.

Morgan.

Something in Hotch's face softens, it won't quite become a smile but rather something similar to sympathy and subtle protectiveness. His grip loosens a little and feels now almost soothing against your arm. The hands around your left squeeze your fingers in a comforting way.

"There's nothing you have to worry about," Hotch says in a calm voice and nods his head in a small movement towards your drip. "It's just normal saline. You suffered from moderate dehydration and they needed to get you hydrated again. You know about these things better than I do. Now calm down before they have to change it." His fingers slide across your upper arm and then they are gone as Hotch is standing upright again.

Your heartbeat is strong and a little too fast, and Hotch seems somewhat distant now while you are staring up at him with tiredly burning eyes. Still, you are grateful to such an extent that you don't even know where to start. So you don't start and Hotch doesn't expect you to. Your slowed down breathing has to be enough for now.

"We wouldn't let them touch you more than necessary. Have a little faith in us, Sweetie, huh?" The voice comes from your left again and you turn your head and you recognize Penelope, sitting in one of those horrible hospital chairs.

"Garcia," you murmur, feeling exhaust and strangely relieved to see her, and her smile brightens even more, lips just as dark red and shiny as her fingernails. Both her hands still hold yours, carefully and protectively, and two or three fresh scratches mark her skin from the wrist down to the knuckles. You wouldn't have fought her off this much had you known it was Garcia, you think. "'m sorry for that," you croak.

"Oh, that?" She looks down and waggles her fingers. "It's nothing, don't worry about it. A pinch of pixie dust and a blueberry muffin and everything's fine again, you'll see."

The corners of your mouth turn upwards in a winded smile and the room falls silent again, for what seems probably longer than it really is. You lift your right hand, the one Garcia is not holding, and you put it on your chest, almost unconsciously. It is ridiculous and silly, but the pressure on your chest feels alien and unpleasant and in your hazy mind you think that, maybe, you can lift it somehow. Stupid. You of all people should know better.

It seems as if something heavy is sitting on your upper body, it does ever since you have woken up in that basement next to Morgan. Now, breathing is easier, though, and you know that the discomfort is only a temporarily physical reaction to all that has happened.

Hopefully, it isn't as bad for Morgan as it is for you. Your thumb moves in slow circles over your breastbone and you try deep and calming breaths, listening to the already slightly annoying beeping and feeling your chest expand and contract every time you inhale and exhale. The light is too bright for you and you close your eyes, several muscles in your face twitch. Your eyebrows, your lids, a muscle in your cheek.

You let Garcia hold your hand, remembering that this case required her at the coalface due to some circumstances and too much technical lingo to identify right now.

A headache starts somewhere between your temples and your hairline like your head is suddenly not big enough anymore for everything in it. You can hear Hotch pushing back his chair, and you think that it is really a good thing that you haven't been alone when you woke up. Although it feels strange somehow – you would have thought Garcia would stay with… with Morgan.

Morgan.

Why isn't she with Morgan?

Before you even know what you are doing, your eyes fly open and you choke on your next breath. How could you forget about Morgan? You prop yourself up on your elbows, hand sliding out of Garcia's grip, and your fingers find your cannula. Garcia is supposed to be with Morgan, everyone knows that, it is a given, always was. But she isn't, she is with you and you are in a hospital, although you were in a basement together with him.

You have to… well, what? Find him? Rescue him? Please. You don't even know, but you have to do something. There has to be some sort of logic behind all that, you are sure of that – and maybe that is why you don't fight all that much when Hotch and Garcia force you to lay down again.

"Would you please stop that?" Hotch asks and the words sound stressed out to the point of weariness. Actually, his tie is crocked the slightest way, his suit is wrinkled and he has a strange glint in his eyes. You still fiddle with the nasal cannula and he grabs a hold of your hand. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

Without any other attempt to fight you let your hand sink and lift your gaze to meet his. "Where's Morgan?" you ask him right away – as right away as it still can be – and a blaze of light shines behind Hotch's eyes, like a sudden unexpected spark in the darkness.

He exhales silently and sustained as he straightens himself again. "Morgan's alright. He has a room down the hall," Hotch answers, his eyes never leaving your face, making you feel very young all of a sudden. "It's you we were most worried about. All of us. And yes, we got Barnes," he adds kind of emphatically before you even got the chance to ask (you did want to, not a moment ago, but Hotch has been faster). "He panicked and got careless after he took you, and fortunately for us he made a mistake before you could become his next victims. I'll talk to you two later about the importance of backup when cornering an Unsub as well as about your own more than careless behavior."

"Yes, sir," you murmur, feeling much like a child being scolded by his father. You can sense that this won't be pretty, even more so because you already know how foolish you were, how dangerous it was, how much it could have gone wrong.

Hotch takes a step back, apparently mollified, and his shoulders seem a little less tense. "You, stay put," he says to you with an admonishing look while he walks to the door. "I'll go find a doctor and let the others know you're awake. Garcia, will you – "

"You got it, Bossman," she answers and salutes, already knowing that he wants her to stay by your side.

"Good." Hotch is almost out of the door when something seems to cross his mind and he halts, turning around again. "Oh, and Reid?"

"Yes, sir?" you ask, maybe even a bit confused, because that didn't sound like it was part of the upcoming lecture that awaits both you and Morgan. Hotch still doesn't smile and his expression hasn't changed, but something is different within him, and the gleam in his eyes is as close to a smile as it can possibly get now – because the 'sir' now is not the 'sir' it was years ago.

But he doesn't answer immediately, even though you think he could. For a moment and another he is just looking at you and deciding while you still have to figure out what this is all about. "Try not to give them a reason to keep you longer than necessary."

"Oh, uh…" You blink. Somehow, that isn't what you have expected, even though you don't know what you thought would come. "Uh, of course, yeah," you say, uncertainty wavering in your voice, and you don't know how you are supposed to react to what Hotch didn't tell you.

Without another word, Hotch is gone and you are left behind, wondering what he was talking about or if he was talking about anything at all. You can actually hear Garcia smiling next to you, but judging by the way she looks at you she either doesn't know it herself (which is unlikely) or she does know it but won't tell you anyway. You assume it is the latter.

"Don't worry 'bout him, he'll get over it," she says with a light chuckle and you are sure – it is definitely the latter. Whatever that is.

You inhale to ask her just that, when the breath reaches deep down and you find yourself in need for another one. You feel dizzy, and you hate it.

A last time you take in the unfamiliar sight of a needle on you, a last time you purse your lips to feel the cannula in full awareness. Then you lay back in resignation, willing yourself to just let it go for the time being. Things seem to be as good as they could possibly be after everything that has happened. The team got Barnes, you and Morgan are safe and sound (more or less) and it is only a matter of time before you can go home.

You have to remind yourself of that, repeating the facts countless times in your head already, until you will be actually able to believe them. This will probably take some time. But you seek comfort and reassurance in Garcia's presence, because she wouldn't be here (or at least, she wouldn't be that calm) if there was something to worry about. Right? You know she cares deeply about you just like you do for her and everyone else on the team – but Garcia and Morgan are another story. She wouldn't leave his side if he wasn't okay. She wouldn't, right?

So her being here does mean… it means… God, just please, let him be okay.

The beeping is hard to ignore and you force your eyes open again to look at Penelope. No, she wouldn't be here if there was any reason to worry. Her whole demeanor screams at you, betrays her, and even in your half-dazed state of mind you can comprehend that she is considerably exhaust and tired herself – but in a calm way.

She has been knitting, the thing that looks like a very short bilious green scarf still in her lap. That would explain the strange clicking noise you heard before, the needles touching each other with Garcia's movements. You can only guess how long she must have been sitting here. But either way – a knitting Garcia is pretty comforting, you think.

"Thank you," you say quietly, "for keeping me company." She smiles a silent 'You're welcome' and you clear your throat. While your mind comes round again and even your body starts to wake up, your voice still sounds like you have just eaten a box full of chalk. "You can go back to Morgan now," you tell her, not really knowing what this sentence is doing to you, only that it is indeed doing something to you. "I don't want him to be alone when he wakes up."

Because you know what it feels like to wake up alone in a hospital. You can remember that feeling, it has been an old acquaintance before you got used to Morgan being by your side in cases like this.

But Garcia doesn't move a bit, she just smiles and rubs your arm (maybe she thinks it would be too much to actually pat you, yet). "Now look at you being all thoughtful and caring although you should just lie here and get better." It seems like a normal Garcia-thing to say but the way she says it is not quite that normal. She still worries about you, she is good at hiding it but you are better at seeing through her. "Of course I made sure our chocolate Adonis is not alone," she says almost fervently. "But in fact, he's not even asleep anymore, so I don't think it counts all that much, right?"

You take a deep breath, inhaling more than usual, and your lungs feel constricted and too full. "He's awake?" He is alive.

"Sure he is. We've been waiting just for you, sleepyhead," she answers with an honestly relieved smile and squeezes your lower arm. "It's good to have our pretty Baby Genius back with us again."

…-ence and Baby and Pretty Boy and all the stuff you won't like. But it'll be okay because it's me and I'll be allowed to call you that stuff.

And you wouldn't have minded it coming from him, you think, wondering where that thought came from. Out of nowhere you have a lump in your throat, making it hard for you to swallow. The corners of your eyes feel hot and start to prickle, and you have to inhale two times before you find yourself able to exhale again. In sounds slightly choked in your ears but if Garcia notices it, she doesn't react to it.

"Who's with him?" you ask, trying to sound calm and, if anything, tired. "Where's everyone?"

"Let's see." She fidgets in her chair a bit, moving closer to you, and her arms come to rest next to your arm atop the blanket. "Rossi and Prentiss are with our favorite Stud Muffin. Hotch came here about thirty minutes ago and JJ's getting coffee for all. And I'm here, of course."

But it is not as of course as Garcia wants it to be. You know it, and it is not like you would blame her for it. There is nothing she could be blamed for, no mistake she has made – it is just the way things are and you are the last person to say something against it. But she is here, the whole team is here, and there is no better way than this to display just how much of a close call it has been this time.

"You know," Garcia says quietly, looking absentmindedly at your hand, "he was so worried about you. We all were. You flat-lined on the way down here and…" She sniffs, grabs your hand and looks at you again, sternly, determined and as fervently as only Penelope Garcia can. "Don't you dare do something like this to me ever again, you hear me?"

You don't reply anything to that. A tired smile tugs on your lips and as a laugh bubbles in your chest, you can do nothing but to cough it away. It hurts and your throat feels dry, but your smile widens.

"I mean it!," she says firmly but there is a smile lighting up her features as well, crooked but oh so bright. "Don't pull a stunt like that again! I can't deal with that! You're our adorable Boy Wonder, you should be out there being adorable and brilliant and not… this… I can understand that you need your adrenaline rush from time to time but this is just sadistic!"

It feels more masochistic to you right now but you don't say it out loud. You try to repress your cough and when she tells you about her heart being too fragile for all this she lures your laugh out of your mouth. "I'll try to keep that in mind," you promise her.

"Now that's a good boy," she praises you and pats your palm appreciatively. Then she sighs, the smile never leaving her face. "Morgan will be so happy to hear that you're up again," she says. "He's asked me to come, you know?"

The laugh that has become a cough becomes a dry and shallow gasping you fail to repress again. Something in your face seems to change because something in Garcia's face does change as well. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth and her thin eyebrows raise in worry.

"Don't get me wrong, Angelfish, I'm not just here because of him," she adds and strokes her hand up and down your lower arm. "I've volunteered. After I made sure that he's alright I wanted to make sure you're alright as well. I was just saying that he thought of the same thing, like, great minds think alike. I would've come either way, alright?"

You force your coughing back and try deep breaths again that reach down almost all the way to your stomach. Your throat feels sore.

It makes sense when you think about it. Figures somehow that he asked her to come, and for a moment you don't know how to react. If Morgan really is alright again, then that makes you the only problem child left. You don't like being in a hospital, this is not a secret. Morgan himself knows that better than anybody.

It is only logical for him – when he cannot make it himself – to send the person he trusts the most to watch over you in his place. Which happens to be Garcia.

You have already thanked her for being here and you meant it, back then and now as well. To do it a second time wouldn't change anything and it wouldn't lessen the degree of gratitude you feel. You just force your lips to smile again, and it is surprisingly easy with her, even though your whole body suddenly feels tense and tight-drawn. There is still the burning in your eyes and the lump in your sore throat, and you are held together by something barely paper-thin that crumbles away like paint on an old canvas.

"Reid?" Garcia asks, sounding somewhat careful now. She looks careful, too, and you can feel how your guard refuses to be let down any further, even if it is only Penelope here. You hope she doesn't notice it, because you do know that, actually, there is no reason for you to keep your guard up around her. Still, your shoulders seem a bit more tense than a minute ago. "D'you remember… anything that happened?" she asks.

And what a question that is.

Swallowing, you knit your brows, and your lips are too dry and your throat is too tight. Your gaze drifts away from her face and settles somewhere near your hand. The needle is still kind of disturbing, but there is something else you just now recognize for what it is.

There is a bandage around your wrist, both your wrists to be exact. It stings every time you move your hand, and just looking at it brings back the memory of how your hands were tied together on your back, of how it made your shoulders stiff and how every move made your knee ache.

You remember what happened?

Maybe. Probably. But what is there to remember? You and Morgan were trapped in a basement, unable to move or do anything except for helplessly waiting for rescue or death – whatever would have been faster. What else is there to remember, other than the heat and the heavy air and the way Morgan looked at you while you were watching him die? What, aside from too much fear and too little time and the feeling of Morgan's lips against your own?

Do you remember anything that happened?

No. You remember everything that happened.

It is playing behind your eyes as you close them, painfully clear and with an accuracy that makes you feel sick to your stomach. "I…," you say and this word is enough to make your voice shake, and you taste bile in the back of your throat. "I… think I have a headache."

Garcia lifts her hand up to your head and strokes your hair gently, trying to soothe away the pain that really is there, but most likely not because of the reason she probably thinks is the cause. "Oh, Reid, don't worry," she says. "We've already talked to the doctor, he said that's to be expected. You'll be fine in no time again, dove."

No surprise here since you already know that. You know what happens when the body suffers from anoxia and dehydration, you know the results – headaches, disorientation, hallucinations, dizziness. Temporarily memory loss. You know all that and you know, too, that you have given Garcia no answer. Still, she doesn't press and you lie back, fighting the urge to just pull the covers up above your head and fall asleep again.

What do you do now? How are you supposed to handle what happened? It seems so unreal, so… absolutely unthinkable. You said things you never thought you would and you heard Morgan say things you never even dreamed of.

For a second you consider that, maybe, your memory of what happened in that basement is not your actual memory but the remains of your delusions caused by the lack of oxygen and water. It would make things easier.

How are you supposed to move on? To move past this?

How are you supposed to look Morgan in the eyes ever again? Morgan – who asked you to marry him and whose proposal you accepted and whom you were kissing during the last beats of your heart. You don't know.

… 'm not gonna die and I won't let you die without this happening.

You just don't know.

A gush of air parts your lips. Your eyes are burning and the beeping of your heart rate monitor is a little erratic which means that not only the slight tremor in your fingers will give you away sooner or later if you don't act quick. Get hold of yourself, Spencer.

"So," you try, your voice hoarse and slightly high-pitched. "You said JJ's getting coffee?"

"Ha. For us, Junior G-Man. You'll stick to saline for the time being," she says with a grin and points to your drip, only an arm's length away from you.

You have expected nothing else, so you don't argue with her. In fact, her reply is just what you have hoped for, because it allows you to go on with what you have in mind. It is going to be a little white lie, nothing big – just a tiny excuse for you to regain your composure again. Hopefully. You try to sit up, using your elbows, but your arms feel weak and even though you think they would support you, you don't struggle as they break away.

"Easy," Garcia murmurs, and with your combined strength you make it into a somewhat upright position. "There you go," she says while she rearranges the blankets around you, and you are staring right at that point where the wall connects with the ceiling.

Think. Think faster.

With burning cheeks, too hot eyes and a prickling in your nose you turn to Garcia. You know that there won't be any coffee for you in the next few hours but, "You think you could get me some water? In a glass? To drink, maybe?"

Penelope looks at you, not quite shocked but still rather surprised, and forgets to reply for a second or two. It is not often that you ask others for something, this is nothing you normally do. You did now, though, and Garcia smiles and seems to be delighted to be able to do this for you, even if it is just a small thing. She puts the wool and the knitting needles at the end of your bed and pats your shin as she stands up.

There is a moment of awkwardness when you try to ignore that you both know that she could simply go to the bathroom to get some water. That would be sufficient, but it wouldn't be enough.

"I'll be right back, cupcake, don't you run away," she hums lightly, before turning around and walking to the door. Her body language shifts completely. Her worries are still there, they don't fade but they are hidden better now, still visible, noticeable, but not so much. She allows you your moment to recollect yourself, to realize and process as far as it is possible now.

A moment to let go.

"Be a good boy while I'm gone," she says, hand already touching the door handle. "And this" – she points at under her nose – "stays just like it is, right?"

You nod a short yes, you won't touch the cannula unless to take it off with permission of the doctor. Penelope's eyes linger a second too long on you and you try to smile while she tries the same, and when she finally leaves it is not a heartbeat too soon. As soon as the door falls shut your smile falls off your face and your brows furrow and you find yourself unable to swallow.

You were about to die. Again. And this time, this time Morgan was dying with you and you had to watch and you couldn't do anything to help him. And while a despicable twisted little part in you dared to almost be happy about it because you didn't have to die alone and because it wasn't just anybody but Morgan being with you, his face the last to see, his voice the last to hear… you still know how horrible it was. And you were afraid. And you were desperate.

Somehow, you still are.

What happened down there still clutches you, and though you are not shaking like a leaf you are shaken up enough to make your chest feel tight and your heart racing. You still cannot breathe.

A too sharp intake of breath, and you lift your hands to cover your eyes. You can feel the tears burning but not falling, hiding them even though nobody is here to see, and for an endlessly long moment the tension you feel is about to tear you apart. Like a music box wound up until the spring is stretched to breaking point where one can hear the cogs scream.

But you, on the other side, do not scream. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You cannot scream. You cannot cry and you cannot breathe, either. Your lips are parted, your throat feels constricted, your eyes burn and you wish for yourself to break as much as you fear it.

When it happens (when you break), it happens with a sound which is not actually here but rather in your head, but for you it would be appropriate in a situation like this. Just a tiny sound, really, like a snapping grass stalk.

The spring flies apart, the cogs come out of mesh and the first tear rolls down your cheek. The second follows suit and you wipe them away with an awkward movement of your wrist, letting the bandaged soak them. You hide your eyes behind your hands, and no matter how many tears you wipe away, there are still more to come while it all melts away – the tension, the fear, the helplessness. The horror of watching Morgan die.

The feeling of his lips against your own.

It all melts away and the tears wash it away, and your breath catches in your throat. You snuffle, concealing your face from a world that is not even here to see. There is a raspy sob and the salty taste of your tears lingers faintly on your lips, and for one minute or maybe even two you simply let yourself cry.

Thinking that, if there was ever any good way to die, maybe it would have been like that.

Alright, first chapter done. What do you think of it?

It will most likely be five parts here, one chapter per week. I probably would talk a little more now, if I just had the time. But this will have until next time. So stay tuned. :)

Bluey