A/N: Still hangin' in there, citizens? If so, I'm glad to hear it. Truly. A few words before we continue here to address some reviews. Yes, Cassie and Vinnie hooked up. No, it wasn't cheating because Cassie and Stoker aren't officially anything. Their grown adults who had a sexual relationship and love each other. But there's nothing exclusive about their relationship.

Infidelity of any sort might be hard to read or even understand. But here's the thing...human nature is brutal and imperfect. We're all born sinners and realistically, we all have coping mechanisms. Some of them are really terrible and involve addictions. That doesn't make people horrible or evil. It makes them human. Up until the point that I was medicating for my anxiety and depression, I had really unhealthy coping mechanisms. Not on the level of Cassie but still, I did myself no favors and was painfully aware of how much I was hurting myself.

What Cassie and Vinnie and Stoker are is characters with human emotions and the ability to screw up just like the rest of us. Doesn't make us horrible people.

Side note, if anyone out there is struggling with something horrible and using unhealthy coping mechanisms, there is zero shame in getting help. ZERO.

Okay, off my soapbox now. I hope you guys enjoy the update. It's kinda fraught with really hard emotions and painful truths. Fair warning. :) Much love you to you all!

Chapter Five

It had been years since Vinnie had ever suffered through a monster hangover. Years since he'd felt the need to drink until he blacked out. He'd had enough PTSD from the war and his run in with the girl who's memories were wrapped in blood-soaked black satin to fear getting too drunk.

He wished now that he'd had enough sense to remember that last night before destroying a bottle of Gentleman Jack. He could only count himself incredibly lucky that nothing had come back to haunt him when his defenses were otherwise occupied taking care of some much needed self-induced release.

Goddess, there was no way he wanted to be dealing with a double-dose of mental anguish when the pounding in his head was already giving him fair warning that any bit of movement would have him running for the bathroom to vomit.

A gentle knock sounded at the door and Vinnie groaned as the pounding in his head slightly intensified. He swallowed, finding his mouth extremely dry, and managed to croak, "Come in."

Throttle walked in. He didn't say a word as he set a bucket on the bed beside Vinnie and a bottle of water and a cup of coffee on the nightstand. He fished a prescription bottle out of his vest pocket - Hydrocodone left over from when Charley had broken her middle and ring finger a year ago trying to replace a water pump on a giant diesel truck. She'd taken the meds for two days, then switched over to regular strength pain killers, giving them what was left with strict instructions to use it only when necessary.

"Saw the empty bottle of Jack," Throttle said, setting the pills down beside the water and leaving Vinnie to handle the rest himself.

He threw back two pills with only enough water to get them down his throat, took a careful sip of coffee and eased back. With any luck, the meds would kick in and give him some sort of relief from this hell. Though realistically, there was a piece of that hell the meds couldn't touch and one he knew he'd have to face.

Eventually, he'd have to talk to Cassie.

He groaned, rolling onto his side and pulling his pillow over his head. There was a conversation he didn't want to have. He owed her an apology but he didn't know how the hell to word a decent one. He'd acted on one of the most basic animal instincts, provoked by need and desire. She'd reacted on those same instincts. It had nothing to do with how they felt about one another, nothing to do with any deep, unrealized emotions. It was need, raw, simple and basic.

None of that made working up an apology sound any better. It actually sounded a hell of a lot worse.

He refused to move or think any more until he was certain the pain meds had kicked in and the persistent throbbing behind his eyes had subsided to a dull ache.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when the afternoon light didn't cause a lance of pain to his central cortex.

"Fuck if I ever drink that much again," he muttered, his voice gravel on a back country road. In the middle of a damn drought, he tagged on as an afterthought, reaching for the bottle of water. No cautions sips this time. He tilted his head back and drained the contents in five thirsty swallows, then closed his eyes and waited to see if his stomach would reject any of it.

When it didn't, he rolled out of bed and shuffled to his dresser for a pair of sweatpants, then left his room.

He needed a hot cup of coffee and Throttle, bless his do-right-by-others soul, had a cup ready for him at their beat up kitchen table where he sat, nursing his own mug with a foot propped up on the neighboring chair.

"Haven't seen you drink like that in years," he commented as he watched Vinnie fall into the chair across from him and take a long pull of steaming hot coffee without bothering to cool it.

"Pretty sure the last time you saw me do it was when I had royally screwed a situation."

"If memory serves."

Vinnie slid his chair back to recline in it and winced as the metal legs scraped across the bare concrete floor. "It's gonna be my 'I screwed shit up' M.O. I think. Kissed Cassie last night."
"Know why?" Throttle asked, straight to the point without even a slight flinch of surprise.

"Been in her head too much. I know it's a shitty thing to do but she was all worked up. Could smell it all over her. Like walkin' into a damn brick wall. Ain't been with a woman in years so knowin' her fall back when she's not in a good place, I went for it without even thinkin'."

"Jeez, Vin," Throttle frowned, "What the hell? That's not like you at all."

Vinnie couldn't agree more. "Like I said - too much time in her head. You can't do what I'm doing without picking up a residual personality disorder."

Throttle processed that, turned it around a couple of times. "You able to pull back a bit and get your head cleared?"

Vinnie bit out a harsh laugh. "I sure as hell hope so. If I can't and she has to sort out the rest of all that mess on her own…"

He didn't want to think about what would happen if it came to that. Keeping things locked up took practice. He was still exerting himself to the point of drop-dead exhaustion repressing everything in her head into nice, neat, impossible-to-open boxes like messed up little party favors. And Cassie, for as hard as she was working at cautiously searching for her memories, still struggled with nightmares. They weren't at a point that he could just stop what he was doing and hope for the best.

He blamed Stoker.

"What the hell was Coach thinking?"

"Maybe he wasn't. Not clearly anyway." Throttle got up and went to the coffee pot for a refill. "He's been known to make some pretty dumbass decisions in the moment. The three of us can't claim much different."

Vinnie nodded at that, taking the hint and holding his cup out for a refill when Throttle silently offered. Kissing Cassie...that had been a dumbass decision. One he hadn't thought through at all.

A light banging echoed through the Scoreboard and Vinnie groaned, clasping his head between his hands. "Who ever bothers knocking?"

Setting his mug down, Throttle went to get it and returned a few minutes later, a timid Cassie in tow. Because that's what I need right now, Vinnie thought, the woman who was partly responsible for my drinking to compliment my hangover. Goddess he was a cynical ass when he was down. "Hey, Cass. What brings you here?" he asked, making an attempt to offer a slightly welcoming smile.

She glanced at Throttle as she unzipped her stylish coat, a long plaid thing with fake fur around the hood and cuffs. "I ah...thought you and I should...talk. About yesterday."

"I'm gonna see if Charley needs any help at the garage," Throttle quickly offered. He dumped what was left of his coffee in a to-go cup, topped it off and made himself scarce, leaving a load of tension in his wake.

Vinnie released a sigh and motioned to the chair across from him. "Have a seat. Want coffee?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

She dropped her coat over the back of the chair next to her and sank down into the one he'd indicated, taking in her surroundings while waiting. Poor thing looked lost, like she didn't want to be there, preparing to have a conversation they both knew they couldn't avoid. It would have been a lot easier if they could. Nothing about them was easy, though.

Vinnie set a cup of steaming coffee in front of her, then sank back into his seat.

"You look like hell," Cassie muttered. "What did you do?"

"Drank...a lot," he answered honestly. "Way more than I should have."

She frowned and took a sip of her coffee. "Why?"

"Because that's my coping mechanisms for when I'm being a shitty friend."

"Vinnie." Cassie set her cup down and folded her hands on the table top. Her gaze was intense, something he couldn't avoid. "You're not a shitty friend."

"Oh, really?" He leaned forward, ready to challenge her, wanting to challenge her. "I know your go-to, Cass. I know you're addicted to the blackouts any sexual encounter can give you. Knew it...didn't give two shits because I haven't had sex in years and you smelled like something I could bury myself in without thinking. I could tap right into that ability to black out and ride that high as good as you could. How does that make me a good friend?"

She sat back. Nothing about her face told him she'd been shocked by anything he'd said. His blows didn't make a dent in her determination. "What makes you a good friend is the fact that you didn't."

Vinnie scoffed. "I doubt Coach would see it the same way."

"It doesn't fucking matter if he does or not," Cassie shot back. "What matters is that I see it that way. Yeah, you could have been that guy. I've known enough of them. But you, Vinnie, are not one of those guys. You have the same shitty coping mechanisms though," she added with a smirk that gave him a shred of hope that they could salvage what they'd almost destroyed.

"Oh yeah? How'd you deal with it?"

Her smirk grew and a devious glint flashed in her eyes. "The battery operated route. Maybe try that next time?"

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "Shut up. And I did go that route...without the batteries. You chicks get all the fun stuff."

"They make toys for guys too. You just haven't looked hard enough."

They fell into a comfortable silence, quietly sizing each other up while sipping their coffee.

"I'm going to start seeing a therapist," Cassie murmured after a while. "I know that there's something really unhealthy about using sex to cope the way I do. It ranks up there with any other addiction. I'm fighting every urge to fall back on it with everything going on in my head and it's getting...really difficult. But living like I did...I've destroyed so many chances at healthy relationships, destroyed people's marriages, destroyed opportunities for a better life. I don't...want to go back to that."

Vinnie didn't say a word in response. He knew the extent of what her habit had given her. He'd seen those one-night stands play out over and over again, felt the guilt and self loathing in the aftermath and the desperation to seek out another partner to stop it, the chase for a rush that wouldn't last. He'd felt the detachment she managed to obtain with each encounter and it had unsettled him. He liked sex as much as the next guy...but he couldn't imagine living a life like that where love and emotional depth didn't exist even in the simplest form.

"Think that part of me is something you can lock up?" she asked. Her grin was lopsided but he could sense the hope in her words. Goddess, he hated to kill that off…

"I wish I could, doll. Trust me, if there was a way to do it, I would. But there's not. That's locking parts of you up. I do that, you start losing who you are." She opened her mouth to respond. He knew it would be some self-depreciating, sarcastic remark and held his hand up to stop it. "That would be a bad thing. You might not like that part of you, but it's a big part of who you are on more than just a basic level. It's not just some tiny piece of your identity. It's a huge chunk. One you've learned a lot from. Erasing that wouldn't help you in the slightest."

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded, her eyes glassing over. "I hate this part of me, Vinnie," she confessed in a staggering whisper.

He pushed away from the table, hangover forgotten. He made it to her just as she shattered, her sob tearing straight through him. He pulled her into his arms. He could easily see the same scenario playing out with Stoker back in Wisconsin, sitting in the cab of McCyber's truck and being her anchor through the storm. He'd made her face her demons, just like Vinnie had.

She'd ran from them her whole life and they were all catching up, one after another, forcing her to deal with things she'd refused to before. Facing the death of her childhood friend, Andrew, had been one minor stick in a well-constructed dam. Taking on Stokers shit had blown the dam to shreds. And here she was in the aftermath, just trying to regain her footing.

"You go see a therapist," Vinnie said, stroking his hand over her hair. "Get the help you need. I'll keep doing what I'm doing. We're gonna get you through this and to a good place, doll. I promise."

She nodded against his chest. He picked her up and took her spot, settling her in his lap. It was a long time before he let her go.

**On Mars**

Stoker stood before the council, hands clasped behind his back, his nerves on edge. He hated all the red-tape bullshit he had to go through just to resign from his post but he had pride and that pride wouldn't allow him to just hijack a ship and leave Mars without looking back.

"I understand you've assigned a soldier to take over your responsibilities and ultimately replace you as commanding general upon your resignation?" the head chairman, an overweight, arrogant looking mouse with graying fur asked.

"Yes sir," Stoker responded.

To the head chairman's left sat Carbine, looking pensive. She hadn't made a secret out of the fact that she didn't approve of Stoker's decision. Not that he gave a damn. Her priority was and always had been the war. Her dedication had left her with little for companionship and a relationship that was extremely questionable at best. She'd refused to take over in his absence, calling him a million different types of fool for letting a woman "cloud his judgement."

But she'd kept her mouth shut to the council, a small blessing he was grateful for.

His replacement, Bice Castway, was enthusiastic and level headed, showing promise to withstand the strains of war. He was young enough to promise longevity but not so young that he didn't take his role and responsibilities seriously. And most importantly, all of Stoker's men respected him. Even Carbine grudgingly agreed that he'd be the perfect soldier to take over for Stoker.

"And you're sure," the man leaned forward, watching Stoker carefully, "that you want to resign your position permanently?"

"With all due respect, I've been fighting this war longer than most of those soldiers out there have been alive, sir. Pretty sure my tenure outranks yours. I've served well over my time and feel it best to have someone with a fresh perspective in charge. Someone who wouldn't fight the system so much and would probably tow a line far better than my stubborn tail did."

The older man's mouth twitched as if he were trying to fight back a smile. "I can't argue with that, General," he muttered, then turned his attention to the paperwork in front of him, pushing the narrow glasses on the bridge of his nose back to better review it. "Well, if you're certain this is what you want, there's no reason why your request can't be granted. As you said, you've logged more than enough years to earn yourself a well deserved retirement. You could have done so much earlier. General Stoker VanRotten, I hereby approve your application for retirement. Good luck, Soldier."

The chairman dismissed him with a pound of his gavel and Stoker saluted the council with sharp, military precision before turning on his heal and walking out of the chambers, fighting every instinct to run like hell. With his retirement in the rear-view, that left one last hurdle to get over before he could get back to Earth - commandeering a ship to get there. It would have to be one of the old ones, a hunk of metal few felt confident enough to fly and one not a single mouse would miss having around. There were a few in the bay that would work just fine with a tune up and a few mechanical upgrades he was more than capable of doing.

"Stoker."

He grimaced at the sound of his name but didn't stop walking. "You wanna talk, Carbine, then you're gonna need to keep up. I've got places to be."

He heard her sigh of disgust before the footsteps behind him quickened. She appeared next to him seconds later, huffing another sigh just so he would understand how annoyed she was with him.

"So you're just what? Out of here as soon as you can get out of here?"

"Basically, yeah."

She followed him into his barracks, slamming her hand against the switch to close the door. Her irritation was starting to wear on him something fierce.

"Is she that important to you? More important than your home?"

He whipped around to face her and ground his teeth together when she was her standing there, arms crossed over her chest and that superior look on her face that she used on almost everyone to convey her rank. "I don't have to defend my decisions to you, Carbine. Actually," he couldn't resist angling her a cocky smirk, "I don't have to defend my decision to anyone anymore."

"Regardless of how purely selfish they are," Carbine snarled.

"Call 'em what you want. Fact is, I've been puttin' enough of what everyone else wants in front of what I want for long enough. I have a chance to live a life with this woman and I'm takin' it because last time I didn't and I regretted the hell outta that." He turned from her and went to the bed where his half packed bag waited. He ignored Carbine as he shoved the rest of his belongings into the bag, zipped it closed and slung the strap over his shoulder.

"Wow, you really can't get out of here soon enough, can you?"

There was an undercurrent to her words, words meant to sting and hide how much his leaving was upsetting her. He barely caught it. But it was there. He stopped in front of her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "A word of advice, General. Quit makin' this war your top priority."

Carbine's eyes narrowed, glinting with repressed rage. "I want the war over, Stoker. Just as badly as you do."

"Then quit puttin' it first. You want it over, give yourself a reason to fight for an end to it. Not a reason to keep fightin' it. You got a good man who has no idea where he stands with you. The fact that he's still tryin' to figure it out says a lot about him. I wouldn't have that level of patience, obviously." He nudged his bag with his elbow. "But Throtte's a different kinda man. And he deserves a hell of a lot more than what you're not givin' him."

It was a low blow, but someone had to make it. The girl had to know that her mindset needed a hard rewire before it was too late. He pulled her into a one armed hug that she went into stiffly, refusing to give in and let her facade crack.

"Take care, Carbine."

She didn't respond in kind. He didn't expect her to. With a brisk pat on her shoulder, he walked away without glancing back. He had a ship to get running and a long ass trip ahead of him.