when we were BROKEN

Marseille, France

"It's nice to see you again, Mr Masters."

"Sure, and I'm Mother Theresa."

"I was speaking sincerely."

"So I'm teacher's pet. Hooray for me."

"The sarcasm isn't necessary."

"Neither is this session."

"It's been a long time since we've had a chance to talk, and our discussions would improve if-"

"Spare me the lecture."

Pushing to his feet, Ji paced to the window to lean against the frame, staring out at the street below. Tourists, locals, a flow of light, color, and sound as people merrily went about their lives, blissfully unaware of the world's dark underbelly. A year had gone by since that night, each minute of every day agonizingly slow.

He's woken up in an Argentine hospital in ICU, hooked up to IVs and oxygen, pumped full of painkillers and sedatives. That same day the division head of the Agency strode into his room, snapped his fingers, and a small army of agency-employed nurses and doctors had removed him from the hospital. Transport back to Agency headquarters had been no picnic, but once there he'd remained in intensive care for several weeks. Then rounds of physical therapy plus blood-curdling interrogations, although he'd been informed they were categorized as debriefings, had taken place.

He'd told them everything they'd wanted to know, except about Ginny. On her, he was as tight-lipped as a lost grave. Neither were they forthcoming, so he'd suffered silently for months about her care and safety. Relief came with a mysterious envelope delivered to his room at the Agency barracks where he was staying, with no return address. Inside was a single photograph with two words boldly stroked across the back. 'She's safe.' The picture was cut from a Japanese newspaper headline dated several months before.

Dark eyes wide, a shy smile curving her lips, Ginny was looking past the camera lens, her features carved in hope. The partial headline read 'Yua Eizo reunited with her parents', and it had been enough. She was safe, she was happy. It didn't matter that she'd taken every last piece of himself with her, leaving him a dry, empty husk. He'd do it all again to get her beyond the reach of Axis Global and the Agency.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." His gaze didn't leave the street. He didn't even want to think about it, unable to ease the hard knot in his chest.

"We have two hours to fill, Mr Masters."

"You're paid whether I spill my guts or not," tone cutting, he shot a dirty look over his shoulder. "So how about we just appreciate the sound of silence?"

"Very well."

He hated that tone. The maternal, mature, tolerant, 'I know you hate me, but I don't blame you' tone. No judgments. No expectations. Just... patient. Ten minutes of torture went by before he couldn't stand her silent acceptance and whipped around.

"You aggravate me!"

"Do I?" Her smile was carefully hidden. "How?"

"Don't pull that Freudian crap with me, doc! You know what I'm talking about!"

"This is your session, Mr Masters, we can spend it in whatever manner you like. I will never force conversation on you."

"See! That!" Stalking forward, he stabbed a finger toward her. "That right there is what I'm talking about!"

"Please," gently wrapping her hand around his finger, Nomi guided it away from her eye. "Might we try to keep this civil? Your actions are making me uncomfortable."