You've just gotten scolded by Duke Leto in the war room because you almost jeopordized the mission to save your men. I understand both perspectives, because I've been in both of them. I've chewed someone out because they didn't stik the protocol, and I've been chewed out because I put my mens's lives over a mission. It's very much a lose-lose because on one hand, you're reprimanding someone who (objectively) did the right decision by saving people, but they didn't do what you want. It's a grey area that happens a bit too often for my liking.

I'm sitting on our bed and I'm taking my right boot off while I see you looking through our drawers for some night clothes. You just got out of the shower so a bit of water's on your back and your hair's completely wet. I slip my right boot off and I contemplate talking. We haven't talked since you got scolded, and I don't know if I really want to. I sit up straight after getting my boot off and I close my eyes, my back killing me. Getting old sucks, and it's very limiting for me. I stand up and I walk up to you. I wrap my arms around your waist and bury my face in your neck, muttering.

"You do know that Leto was right, right? You're supposed to complete the mission, not save your men against the Harkonenns."

You step away from me with your eyebrows furrowed and say.

"Who are you to say that men's lifes are unimportant? You, of all people, should know what it's like to lose someone."

You were right, I have lost someone. I've lost a lot of people. I've lost too many. I can't lose you, or Paul, or Duke Leto, or anybody I care about. If I lost you... I'd be broken. I'd probably snap and hunt down who killed you.

"Yes, bu-"

I'm cut off by your words which are laced with malice and anger.

"I don't want to sleep with you tonight. Get out."

My ears start to ring and I'm taken aback. What? We've always laid down together. I look down and then walk over to grab my boots. I walk out of the room, silent, a tell-tail sign that I'm beyond angry. I'm hurt.