-a t h o s-

I can help you. Please forgive me. Alan was confused by this. His senses were beginning to betray him though he swore he felt his pain fade for a moment as Helena looked him over. She had careful, modest hands. He was glad he made her stay behind.

Alan did his best to mumble a response as he gradually lost control of his speech. "What? Helena, of course you can help me. You're really something special, if you're actually there that is. My head is still killing me. Don't apologize. It's okay. I took a bad fall but I'm fine. I'm fine. Really I'm O.K. Why did you get the spoon? Helena, I'm no good at cooking, and my arm is broken. Hold on, what's going to hurt a lot?" Helena set his arm, and he cried in agony.

What she said about his knee scared him more than the bullet lodged in his arm. Alan had been limping just fine. He wondered what else he missed in the haze of adrenaline.

For a moment, he felt much more at ease laying across Sion's bar. It was only a matter of time before he ended up there. See, not so special.

Alan found Helena's words puzzling again when she asked him to get rid of his shirt. Weird? Makes sense to me. What's weird? After staring blankly for a moment, he gave a confident smirk. Despite her strengths she was still just a girl and just as young as he was. "Helena, I don't think I can do that with my arm in this sling. Just cut it. I've got other shirts. It's fine." He unsheathed his short sword with his right hand and tried to extend it out in his caretaker's direction, but he lost his grip and it clattered to rest on the floor. "Shit. Sion. Where are you? I'm sorry about the bar. I'll help clean it up later I promise. Hold me to this one I mean it. Damn drugs. Things are just making me worse. How am i gonna fight without my knee cap, man? I'm all fucking.. I'm.. I'm alright. Just fix my knee, okay? I'm sure you went to a good school Helena. You're very good at this. I don't just think you're beautiful. Really, you did a good job. I'm sorry I screamed like that but it fucking hurt. I'm sorry though. And I'm sorry we left you back here but I had to. You would understand. I'm really sorry. I'm sorry about the bike and the blood. Fuck. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't stop the truck! I couldn't do anything. It was too fast. I'll try again though. I've got it this time. They'll be fine I just need to warn them. I'll tell them and they'll get out of the way sooner. But they're so slow. Look out god Damnit! It's coming! Look! Why won't you move?! Move! If you don't move it'll kill you! Can't you see you're going to die!"

Alan ran out of breath. He put his useful hand over his eyes and went quiet.

((please note. I am in no way a medical person and I am simply assuming how this stuff would be treated. Hence probable inaccuracy.))

Alan hardly noticed his sword tear through the fabric that barred Helena from his injuries, but the feeling of her hands searching for his knee helped immensely. It was something to ground himself in, clearly real. He returned to the world, lucid once again. Now, he realized he had been screaming at a dream and kept his hand over his eyes.

When Helena told him she was about to fix his knee his whole body grew tense, anticipating the pain. For a brief moment she was pushing. It was excruciating, but he didn't yell this time. Partly because it was less of a shock the second time around, but mostly because he didn't have the energy. With a sudden pop came a rush of relief. He had legs again. Nothing a brace can't fix. The ice on his chest was the final touch in bringing Alan back to his usual self.

Alan kept his eyes closed as Helena moved his hand to hold the ice. Then she asked him to look at her.

Slowly he turned his head to where it sounded like her voice was coming from. He opened his eyes, finally, and was met by a calm, faded blue. He loved that color. Every now and then, just a few days a year, the sky would clear up enough during the day so that it would turn that color. Grey would give way to comforting blue for a few hours. Many of the best things Alan could remember happened on those days. Whatever healing Helena's hands couldn't do, her eyes surely could.

He was so distracted by the blue, he nearly missed how red her face was. Alan smiled. "So, what do you think? Am I gonna make it?"

Alan watched the girl's index finger dance about for a few seconds. The small graceful gesture hypnotized him for a moment, but he remembered a bitter piece of information and snapped out of it. Taking her hand with his, stopping the exercise, he locked eyes with her again. That cool blue brought him peace beyond his physical pain. It made him feel like it was possible for everything to be alright He wished she could look at him like that as she worked on his injuries.

"Helena, I still have a bullet in my arm. I know I've already put you through a lot. But, when you're ready I need you to take it out of me." This time he almost welcomed the pain, the feeling of Helena mending his body, bringing him back. Despite his physical suffering, he realized this moment would never happen again, and he savored it. He was actually thankful. He couldn't ask for a better near death experience.

Alan noticed the girl jump, and hoped it was because his wounds intimidated her rather than his demeanor. He tried a little harder to talk her into searching for the bullet. "You weren't qualified to pop my knee back in to place either. And if you screwed that up then I'd be really upset with you. You're right. You can do this. If you have to cut or put your finger in the wound, do it. You can't leave it there." Alan may have been able to keep the souvenir if it was in his shoulder or another fleshy part of his body, but it was going to keep his bone from healing if it stayed where it was. He wasn't very curious about the type of person he would be minus an arm.

"I already used Sion's morphine. Mine is in my bag, in the garage with my mask. Get it. Don't worry you won't overdose me or anything." He tried to sit up and was immediately sent back down. "Shit. Really though. I mean it. You may have to use your hands."

Alan looked at Helena as he jabbed the second dose of morphine into his thigh. More relief. But, as he grew calmer, Helena became more uncertain of herself. She was going of instinct and good guesses. He knew he was asking too much, but he had no other choice. She was his best bet, and he could have done a lot worse. She chooses today of all days to drop into my life. He skipped the cliches and typical reassuring words.

"Helena, you belong here."

"I do", he answered, looking at the deformed piece of led that destroyed his arm and nearly killed him. I'm going to keep that for a long time.

Once his wound was sewn, Alan's pain faded to a manageable level. His muscles finally relaxed after the combination of relief from having the bullet out of his arm and the drugs in his veins. Helena had done it flawlessly, and this didn't surprise him. He was right. She belonged there. What did surprise him was how she used her fingers to spread his wound. The girl had quite a stomach. It caused a mind numbing amount of pain, but Alan saw it in a different light. "You know, Helena, I can say with confidence that you're the first women to put her hand in a bullet wound of mine. We just met and you already have my blood all over you." He laughed tiredly, but smiling.

Alan still knew very about Helena. He could have cared less earlier that evening, but now he was past the point of curiosity. She didn't seem like she was headed for the door yet, but he wasn't about to chance it.

"Helena, stay here tonight. You can have my room upstairs. You can't go back out there. Not yet. Besides, I need to properly thank you for putting me back together again." He propped himself up on his right elbow, trying to show a little strength. "I know I'm bloody and busted up and half-naked and drugged, but we should do dinner." He looked down at the neat seam in his arm. "It's the least I can do, and I'm obviously not going to be going out again soon. So, you can be sure I wont go running out on you."

Alan gave her a goofy look and silently thanked the morphine for allowing him to keep his lighthearted attitude despite serious injuries. He spoke softly, still laying on the counter. "You don't think so? Well, Helena I must say I am thoroughly offended. Not really, I see what you mean. I'm in pain. I'm tired. I might drool a little bit, not very becoming of a man on a date with a pretty girl, I know. But, I bet you've never done surgery on a guy and had dinner with him on the same night. I look like I just got out of a war zone, sure, that's because I did, but that's what makes it memorable, right? I definitely can't sleep. We need to be careful about my head injury, so help me stay up. Sion is very skilled in the ways of food preparation, I assure you, and I'll do my best to be charming."

Alan, smiling uncontrollably now, would swear the drugs had nothing to do with it. Helena brought about a sort a blind optimism in him. Normally he would be spiraling into a depression because of his inability to go on operations and fight, but he didn't mind this time. This time he had something else to focus on, something simpler and easier. Something natural. Something peaceful.

Auburn fields and pale blue skies. Grass was just a piece.

No, definitely not the drugs.

Alan looked down at his wounds, now partially hidden by what was left of his shirt. "You sure you don't want to keep it?", he asked, balling up what had been reduced to a bloody rag with his right hand, "I'd feel bad if I was the only one who got a souvenir tonight." He placed the deformed bullet in his pocket and stood up slowly, grimacing the whole way. His arm was well secured. Most of the pain was coming from his midsection, so he moved as carefully as he could, making sure he didn't stab himself with his own ribs. He found a seat in a backed chair in the corner and eased into it. "I think this is as far as i can go, Helena. My jacket should be in the garage though", he said, gesturing to the door Sion had just disappeared into. "I don't think it has that many holes in it. Oh, let Mr. D know he's invited to dinner. We need to convince him to cook somehow."

Just as he was about to put his head back and close his eyes, Alan spotted his kopis still on the counter. He had only seen it on his hip or in his hand since it was given to him. He slept with that blade, and here he was, staring at it from across the room. Has to be the morphine, not the mysterious circle girl cleaning my blood from the bar.

Definitely the drugs.

Helena Penelope Alabaster

Helena went to the back to find Sion and some disinfectant, and didn't really know how to react to what greeted her. Sion slammed his fist on the wall, and Helena nearly jumped out of her skin. "You...you okay? Did the girl say anything bad?" She wanted to comfort him, he looked so hurt. Like he'd lost, somehow. "Look, Alan and I were going to eat. He needs to keep up his blood sugar since he lost a lot of blood. Do you want me to make you anything?" Helena peered over Sion's shoulder at the girl in the corner. She was slumped over, not moving, not speaking, not even opening her eyes. She seemed...
Helena rushed to her, "Sion what happened?! Did you..." Helena bit her lip. She knelt by the girl, feeling for a pulse or any heart beat. It wasn't her place to be angry at Sion for possibly killing this girl. She was probably an enemy after all. But a child?
"What do we have to do?" She looked at the girl. She was so pretty, so delicate looking. She looked like porcelain. It was strange, but Helena felt like she had known this girl, seen her everywhere, on every street corner, but yet Helena couldn't describe her face as she looked away.

((sorry guys, i've been in the bathroom for the past two weeks. what'd i miss?))

"Yeah. I did.", Alan replied softly, trying to breathe as gently as possible, "Helena is, well, a surprise. You sure you don't want her to look at that?" Alan nodded to the bandage on Sion's arm. "I highly recommend her nursing skills."

Alan couldn't help smiling as he watched his friend smoke with the bar in total disarray for his backdrop. "You were always pretty damn good at looking cool.", Alan said as he let out a small giggle. "You know, there used to be a time when people said smoking was bad for your health. They said it caused cancer and all types of wicked shit, but people don't say that nowadays. You see, the air is so bad here, smoking is probably making you live longer." He gave another weak laugh but gave up when he realized Sion was looking somehow more somber than usual.

"You saved my ass, Sion. For all you knew I was probably dead, but you risked it anyway. You saved me out there, and Helena saved me in here. And, being the brilliant young mind I am, I walk over to this table on a knee that was dislocated less than an hour ago. I'll do my best to require as little saving as possible for a while. I promise."

Alan flexed his working arm. "Good thing i'm right handed, yea? If somebody could just hand me my sword..." He chuckled a little more, hoping it would spread. Seeking a sense of humor somewhere within Sion DiBenetto was often a fruitless effort, but Alan would keep trying until he was dead. Possibly afterwards.

Alan sobered up quickly after hearing the news. He stared at the table, mirroring the other musketeer, thinking about what he really wanted to say. He wanted to avoid giving any speeches Sion had likely heard before. Alan knew he was weary of rhetoric.

Being an insurgent had aged Sion beyond his years. Yet, somehow, after seeing so much the man still hadn't become jaded and detached like other musketeers. His soldier's heart didn't stop him from caring about the death of a child. This was why Alan looked up to him. He didn't proclaim it from the rooftops like Alan did, but Sion loved life.

Having finally found the words, Alan spoke. "Even a kid with nothing left wants to live. That's why she stayed with us.
At least she was able to die with dignity here."

He looked outside as a Ragnarok patrol passed by the bar. They were combing the streets looking for their precious hardware and the terrorists that had taken it, no doubt. Alan wondered how many more years it would take for them to discover what XIII was really there for. It had been awfully lucky despite it's fated name.

"You know Sion, none of us are where we are because we chose to be. You know that right? I mean, we're not volunteers. We never chose anything. We do what we have to, and we have to stop them from doing this to more kids. It's their research group, the engineers and biologists and doctors, I know they're civilians technically, but they have to die."

He said it so casually: "I'm going to bury her", as if he was running his usual errands. These were his usual errands. Better world. I guess we owe that to everyone who died young.

Its hard to be the better man.. when you forget you're tryin'. Yea, it's hard to be the better man..

Alan was wasn't sure whether his orders to make dinner were serious or not. Sion had that fatherly rub-some-dirt-on-it mentality when it came to bodily harm. Yea, just get up and make dinner ya slouch. My knee is blown out, and the arm I would use to walk with a crutch is broken, but no pain no gain am I right?

Regardless of how it happened, the truth of the matter was that Alan needed something to start replenishing his blood supply. He hadn't lost a dangerous amount, but it was enough to make him weak. He had enough handicaps.

Helena was out of sight, but Alan was beginning to feel like a burden to her, so he decided not to call for help. He got up slowly, gritting his teeth, and began his long, determined limp over to Sion's pantry. He hoped the girl would be satisfied with sandwiches again because that was all he would be able to make with one hand. What he would neglect to tell her was that his two-handed cooking skill weren't much better.

Architects of a better world. Alan hummed to himself as he put the meal together. I can see it in your eyes as I taste your lips, and they both tell me that we're better than this. That's what were waitin' for. That's what were waitin' for, oh, that's what were waitin' for darlin'.