Veni, Vidi, Amavi.

You. God it's you.

"Against my body, Your body lay like a warm soft star."

Kenneth Rexroth, from Sacramental Acts: The Love Poems; "She Is Away,"

For the first time in his long life Flynn didn't know what to do. Almost always it has been clear and concise. The path he followed with his moral compose guiding him for the majority of his life.

Do not harm the Innocent. Those civilians had done nothing.

Fight off the demons. Save his home.

Daisy.

He failed that. With Daisy. An I important piece of his life.

And now? He's failed you. Not once had he left your side. Only leaving to gather fresh bandages for your arm and a burn salve for your back.

He was grateful for the supplies he had here. The medical equipment and supplies far more potent than that of Earth or Mars.

Already your body had begun healing. But you were not him. What would have taken him hours would take you weeks if not months. But with this? At most a handful of days. Leaving almost nothing but scars.

Scars he could have prevented.

"Slayer. Your body requires rest." Vegas voice sounded from the ships systems. Flynn said nothing. Sat deeper into his chair. His eyes not leaving your face.

Would you leave him? Are you going to be sacred if him? Flynn grips the end of the armrest. The wood creaking from his grasp.

Could you forgive him?

He knows how others see him. Look at him with fearful reverence. Scared of what he could do. But you? You were one of the few who didn't. So willingly you allowed his touch.

He closed his eyes. Felt his heart quicken.

He cared. Oh he cared far to much. Flynn didn't know what would happen when he saved you. Pulled you from the cultists table.

It had been so long since he spoke to someone else who want trying to hurt him or was robotic in some way.

You leaned yourself so freely. So willingly.

He would have never brought you out there. Every demon and unholy beast saw you with his.

They would target you now.

A target. He painted a damn target on your back.

Flynn felt a familiar heat in his chest. One not cause by you. But then. One forge from a millennia of fighting.

His jaw clenches. Brows furrow. His hands clench blunt nails dig into the palm of his hands.

All at once his body relaxes. Slows his breathing.

Instead he pulls your bear from his lap. The lower half if his body that still had on his armor.

He holds Crackers in one hand. They toy that had you so flustered. He thought it adorable then. That even as an adult you still held onto such a thing.

Even now with the ending of the world. It turned the majority of people calloused and cold. Shut off from the world unwilling to be much help to thise outside themselves.

Most of all him.

But you still held kindness in your heart. Let it fall from the very being of you. Used your hands to help.

What good has he done to deserve you? Deserve this?

What had happened to make you fall I to the gate you had? Injured. Hurt. Bloody and bruised.