.:Quiet:.

"The chances of that happening are unimaginable for someone like you." I said, trying to picture Nolan as anyone other than the humble, easygoing man before me and utterly failing.
Another sip, and a relaxed sigh. "Just because it's never been done before doesn't mean it's impossible."
I couldn't argue with that.
Back in Training I thought I was untouchable, forged out of pure titanium. Infallible.
But there I was nine years later with a mottled chest scar the size of Texas and several bottles of prescription anxiety pills stashed under my desk, having unofficial sessions with an adorable, gay therapist who seemed to think I, of all people, had all the answers.

What happened next was a natural progression.
After nearly a year digging inside each other's heads, it only made sense to understand each other's bodies.
I looked up at Nolan in confusion, a question prepped on my lips.
It immediately deflated once I saw him staring down at his hands to the curve of yellowed skin where his wedding ring used to cling.

Ours was a quiet grief.