"I'm sorry," he murmurs, resisting her efforts until she overpowers him, drawing him up. He doesn't want her to see this, to have to deal with this again, doesn't know what's wrong with him. He feels so ashamed, not just for falling to pieces, but for letting them win.


"What if he - What they never give him back?" he says quietly, brokenly. "What if he never wakes up?" He tries to draw a steadying breath and it comes in sharp and shallow, and comes out a sob. He drops onto the couch, curling up onto it, shrinking inward. Words start pouring out in an uncontrolled flood. "He's always the one who knew how to, how to keep going, I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him, I'd have - I can't - I need him, I can't do this by myself."

Shut up. Shut up.

"I don't know what to do," he whispers, his voice giving out, his hands clamped tight over his face.