He wasn't the first man ever to go to the infirmary over a gaping wound, but he was the first one to do it by himself. Stumbling as he limped, clutching his arm that bled from a gash stretching from his chest to his left arm and wrist. He stopped at the doors of the medbay and braced himself.

Pushing past the door with a grunt, he stood in the doorway and observed the empty infirmary-many of the men had left for the weekend, but he never stopped. He spotted a nurse and upon not recognizing the face, he frowned. Was there a new doctor in place? He grunted and awaited instructions, and when the recognition finally did set in, he stopped in his tracks, holding his breath.

"What the F*@#K are you doing here?" He growled finally, clenching his fist. He recognized them. How could he forget? He had loved them, laughed with them. Slept with them. Seen every scar and petal from them and showed his own.

Never again, he had sworn after. Never again. They just weren't compatible. He worked too much, they wanted too much. They were opposites, and it had proved to bring out the worst in each other near the end, leaving them with no choice but to depart.

His heart still ached, though. But he numbed it with work.

"Answer me." He snapped, annoyed with his own thoughts and the silence.