CHAPTER TWO

There is no light out of all the places

There is no sign of our help

There is no time and a chance of relations

What if I choose to live?

Physically leaving the graveyard wasn't the problem. The problem Chris had was recollecting himself and piecing himself back together in a stable condition, especially since he was exhausted and running on about two hours of sleep in the last three days. He was listless, distracted, distraught. His confrontation with Jill had his mind turning and squeezing into jagged, asymmetrical shapes.

He didn't even realize the stoplight had already turned red.

But he didn't feel, hear, or see much when the other car hit him, and that was some dumb luck regardless of whether or not Chris himself believed he had luck at all, considering.

Chris awoke with a start, panting heavily and sweating like he had just run a marathon. The only things he recalled of the crash was the faint sound of glass shattering far away like someone broke the neighbor's window with a baseball. There was that, and the also faraway echo of a metal on metal impact crunching in a sickly cacophony of scrapes, squeals, and groans when, presumably, the cars had skidded on the rough pavement.

"Captain?"

The older man turned his head to the source of the voice and laid his eyes on none other than Piers himself, sitting close by in full BSAA gear on a small metal chair at some improvised BSAA base.

Chris was frozen there for what seemed like an eternity, his mouth slightly agape, his heart racing in his chest so fast he thought it would burst. "Piers…" the name dripped from his tongue like the liquid fire that instantly reignited in his soul. He unsuccessfully struggled to hold back tears of joy, and for the moment, he wasn't even ashamed to feel the unfamiliar warmth of a single salty tear stream down his face. "You – you're alive."

The smooth, unscathed, unscarred face of the younger male crinkled in immediate concern, almost panic, and his brows narrowed to a dangerous crease as he took the glove off of one of his hands and reached out to feel the temperature of Chris' forehead. "You've got a fever," he announced in a whisper before getting up to rummage through one of their supply packs, retrieving a bottle of water that was promptly offered over. "Here."

Tentatively, Chris glanced between his partner and took the bottle of water. He stared down at the clear liquid for a moment before he shook his head just so slightly. "No, where are we? How did you-?"

His inquiries were immediately cut off. "Drink the water, your body needs it," said Piers quietly but urgently, purposely avoiding the questions. "You're sick."

A small sigh parted from Chris' throat and he raised the water bottle to his lips, gulped it a bit too fast down his rough throat and then sputtered the water out on himself, coughing abrasively. When he finally caught his breath, he asked, "What happened?" Only when he asked that question fully did he find enough concentration to gather himself into his surroundings. It was late at night, that was for sure, but the BSAA base was bustling about frantically. Was he in Africa? China? Europe? Somehow his recent memories escaped him, probably due to the headache now pounding at his skull. And, not to mention, he was bandaged up on a medical cot.

Piers seemed reluctant to say much at first. He averted his gaze from Chris, glanced at the doorway behind him, and let out a small sigh. He knew this was coming, and the moment was finally here. Chris had no recollection of the event, but when Piers explained, he knew his Captain would be more than disappointed. Hell, he might even be furious enough to want to kill him, but living with Chris hating him was better than living without Chris at all.

"I failed, Captain," he said finally.

"Piers, what are you talking about?" Chris narrowed his brows just slightly and turned his head, searching for his partner's eyes.

The younger male lifted his head and through a clenched jaw, announced bitterly, "Ada got away, and Jake Muller and Sherry Birkin are dead. There won't be a cure for the C-virus, and the world's gone to shit because I couldn't leave you." His trembling voice had risen from that cool whisper to a guilty choke. "I couldn't leave you and continue the mission, Chris, and now look what's happened." He fell silent for a long moment and breathed heavily. "I had to make a choice, and it was selfish of me to sacrifice the world for one man, but I couldn't leave you to die there. I wouldn't."

The older man understood the raw fear that was inside Piers – it was the fear of losing someone he loved so dearly that he didn't care what the consequences were to save that person. It was in the way the other male's voice shook, the way his hands trembled, and how his glossy hazel eyes threatened to spill out in silent tears.

He had felt the exact same thing in that nightmare… He knew too well the toll it would take on either of them if they had lost each other, but what was the cost? At one point in his dream, Chris had wished there was a way they both could have survived, even if the entire world was doomed. He just wished everything could go back to the way it was: fighting bioterrorism alongside his partner. But, that was in his dream, and this… This was the reality. This was his wish.

Now that he was awake, seeing that face and hearing that voice again after what seemed like forever, he wasn't disappointed in Piers' decision at all, admitting to himself he would have done the same thing in that situation.

"It's alright, Piers," he attempted to console the man by putting a hand on his shoulder. "We'll fix this. Together."