Early evening approached without Imogen's approval. She sat up in Enver's bed and stretched, feeling the burn of well used muscles. She gazed down at the sleeping man beside her and couldn't resist running a hand down his smooth chest.

She was lucky. Lucky to have been banished from her home.

What a strange thought to have. She never would have imagined thinking such a thing, let alone believe it so completely. But it was true, if she had gotten everything she’d said she wanted—living in the compound as Hiram's wife—she would've never had the opportunity to experience this moment.

She relished her time with Enver, but more than that she had come to understand who she really was. Still a pang of sadness churned in her gut whenever she thought of her past. The baby she would not have and the life that would not get to live still haunted her. The things taken from her could never be restored, but a new life here in the deadlands full of creativity and promise—and a man like Enver—soothed her pain.

As she watched him sleep, Enver's eyes fluttered open and his face beamed up at her. Despite the scars on his chest and the unruly hair, he appeared so young and free in that moment. She kissed him sweetly, placing a hand on his face and running her thumb along his prominent cheekbone.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said kissing him again.

"Good morning, or is it night? I lost track." He sat up with a groan and fell back on one of his arms. "I think I must have cracked one of my ribs." He said.

"I probably didn't help that much, did I?"

"Oh, you helped. You helped more than you know." His eyes began to shutter as the darkness passed over his face.

"Don't do that," Imogen said.

Enver stared at her with a sorrow so deep she recognized it instantly. It was loss, the loss of who he thought he was and something he could never get back.

"You can tell me."

Enver looked away his posture slumping. "If I did you wouldn't stay another minute with me, let alone another night, and right now, more than anything, I just want you to stay with me."

"I thought we’d been over this," she teased and stood up stretching her arms above her head. It felt good to stand naked, free, and unrestrained. She crossed his small room and opened his drawers like they belong to her. After pulling out a pair of pants and shirt, she slipped them on.

"That's disappointing," Enver quirked a smile.

"Someone has to check on the patients, and I'm going to get a wrap for your ribs. Don't worry. I'll be right back."

Enver struggled again to sit up further. “I should do rounds.”

"Oh no, lie back down, for once let someone else take care of you," she scolded.

He chuckled, then lay down in defeat and closed his eyes again.

Imogen snuck out of the room quietly and walked down the now familiar hall. At the entrance to her room, she stopped for a moment. The old habit of needing to pull on her skirts and modest shirt tugged at her mind, but she pushed them away.

That was compound thinking and not who she was anymore. If she was going to embrace this new life, she would have to embrace this new version of herself.

Downstairs, in the Ward, she checked all of the patient logs, administered medication as needed, and finally slipped into the kitchen to find Amanda already there whisking powdered eggs with water.

"Oh, thank you. I was just about to do that.”

Amanda turned with a smile, and her eyes widened as she took in Imogen's appearance.

“Trying out a fashion change? You look good."

"Oh," Imogen stuttered running her hands down her thighs. "It's comfortable I guess."

Amanda laughed, as Imogen blushed. "That looks good on you too. I take it Enver's all right?"

Imogen's blush deepened, and she nodded. "If you have things in hand here, I'm gonna…"

"Go, don't worry about us. Everything here is fine, no emergencies. Mason will be back soon to take me to someplace he knows up in Sky City. Will you tell Enver thank you for me if I don't get a chance to say anything myself?"

"Of course." Imogen hesitated and then reached for the young woman pulling her into a hug. “I'm so glad things are working out for you."

Amanda squeezed her back. "You too. You both deserve it."

Imogen released her hold on the young woman and hurried to grab an Ace bandage before returning to Enver.

Upstairs, she found him sitting up in bed with a book in his hands. When she closed the door, he set the book on his lap and patted the space next to him, a grim expression on his face.

She hadn't seen this expression since her mother set her down to tell her she was being taken to be a breeder. It had been the last time her mother ever spoke to her.

A sense of dread spread through Imogen's chest. Would this be the last time she spoke to Enver? She wanted to clutch her shirt at the thought. Anxiety wormed its way in between her ribs wrapping around her heart and squeezing until she could barely breathe, but she fixed a smile on her face and held up the Ace bandage.

"No time for your shenanigans right now," she said. "Sit up so I can wrap your injury."

Enver scooted to the edge of the bed without a word, his legs dangling over the side and a strip of sheet covering his lap. His frame was a form of camouflage. Dressed, one would never guess the stack of muscles running down his chest or the chords of his legs.

She studied him, soaking him in, praying to the earth that this wouldn't be the last chance she had to touch him.

She approached without a word and avoided his eyes. Whatever was on his mind weighed heavy between them, a great cloud of doom threatening to smother them.

Imogen climbed up on the bed and kneeled behind him. She placed her hands on his back, and a shiver ran down his spine pulling his flesh up into bumps.

She unrolled the wrap tightly around his chest. His skin was smooth and soft, a surprise considering how gruff of a man he could be. She reached her arms around his middle, pulling the bandage tight enough to feel the resistance from his bones. As she wound the fabric around him, she stretched it tight to make sure it was secure enough for him to heal quickly, his bones held in the proper position.

Enver leaned back against her body she wrapped her arms around his torso. Her head her chin nestled against his shoulder. “You have to tell me whatever’s laying on you so heavily,” she said.

His body stiffened as he pulled slightly away.

She tightened her hold on him placing a gentle kiss against his neck. “It’s weighing on you. Anyone could see that. Don’t ask me not to care about that.”

Enver relaxed ever so subtly, only enough that someone as in tune with his body as Imogen would recognize.

“There are some things that just don’t have words. The things I’ve done, had to do.” He dropped his head and the seconds ticked by.

Imogen held him, rocking slightly, hoping he could feel the reassurance and acceptance she poured into him. He had accepted her and never judged her for her past. She wanted to do the same.

He reached up and wrapped his hand around hers, giving it a squeeze. His chest rose and fell with heaviness in the quiet room, but she held on.

“In the Gaul desert, I was a part of the first cyborg only strategic unit.” His voice was low, distant. “I was trained for combat but most of my experience was as a medic, so it made sense to have me on the team. The terrain was rough and all attempts at air strikes or missiles had been shot down or taken out by atmospheric EMPs. By staying on the ground and being custom fit with cybernetics to resist their tech we were told it was manifest destiny. The cyborgs would end the war.”

We were together for thirteen days. Thirteen days in the blistering sun, ruins of abandoned cities, and disappearing rations. After the first week, I think we all understood we’d been sent on a suicide mission. That the goal wasn’t for us to go in, disarm the enemy camp at the border of the contested lands, and come home. The goal was for us to die out there with the enemy. The army didn’t care as long as we got the job done.”

Imogen squeezed him for a moment as he paused. She could picture him out there, hot and desperate. The inevitableness of his death wove through his voice as he spoke and she longed to take the pain of it away.

“When we ran out of food, we hunted. Soon, it wasn’t so much about even getting to the objective as much as staying alive. The first cyborg unit wasn’t something that would be lauded like they’d told us. We were disposable, replaceable, just parts in a larger machine. When our first man died, we radioed so his body could be retrieved. We were told to take whatever cybernetics we could find use for and leave him. We were ordered to scavenge our own. And we did. We took his eyes and I retrofit them for someone else so we’d have someone on the team with night vision, and we took anything else we needed. We didn’t even bury him.”

He dropped his hand and fingered his dog tags, the light blue of his connection coming on line in the dim room.

“We were supposed to be an elite unit for the American Corp. These were my brothers. And when they fell we ripped them apart for spare parts. By the time we reached the camp, we were barely functioning, all of us starving and dehydrated. But we made it. I told myself what we’d done was worth it because of the mission. And then the fighting started.”

His shoulders shook but Imogen stayed quiet, giving him all the time and space he needed to get the words out. She didn’t hear anything that would warrant the self-blame he carried around. If anything, she was surprised he didn’t sound angrier about what they had been put through.

“We were no match for them. The European Consolidated Force had six times as many men stationed at the camp than we’d been told. Half our team was down before we even got into camp. I tried to keep them alive, but one by one, if the injury didn’t kill them, the damage to their cybernetics created a feedback loop of pain I couldn’t control. There wasn’t anything I could do. I was up to my ass in blood and I couldn’t make it better.

“When our ordinance specialist set off the IED’s he’d created from the dead’s cybernetics, everything seemed to happen at once. My men were screaming. So I took out my weapon and I shot each one of them in the head. I killed my team because I couldn’t fix them.”

“Enver…” Imogen exhaled pulling him against her chest and kissing his shoulder. “You ended their pain.”

“I was sent there to keep them alive. By the end, we’d destroyed the camp, but everyone on my team was either injured beyond what I could heal even as a trauma medic or had malfunctioned so severely there was no way to disconnect their neural connection. I tried detaching arms, legs, even part of a spine, but everything I did just made it worse. In the end the entire unit was dead either by the enemy or my hands.

“When I came home, they pinned a medal on me, gave me a month’s severance and dropped me off in Cyn City. No official report was ever filed as far as I know and no one collected our dead. They’re probably still out there, buried under the spreading sand of the desert.”

Imogen’s chest burnt with empathy for all he had faced and tears built up in her eyes. Her arms pressed against the heat of his skin, words unable to come to her lips. Her thoughts soared, what could she possibly say to make his pain go away?

“I can still see their faces.” The muscles in his body tightened, “Faces twisted in sickening ways, shrieking pleas. Some begged for release, but there were those who wanted to live, wanted to keep fighting… I shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t say that.” She pressed her face against his shoulder. “I can’t imagine what my life would be if you hadn’t been here, hadn’t taken me in.”

He took in a unsteady inhale, holding it before letting it go.

“Why didn’t tell anyone what happened? Make them answer for what they did to you?” It came out a whisper, a bitter after thought.

He stared down at his own hands, the metal a sharp reminder of the sins they had committed. Closing them tight, he scowled. “What good would it do? I was a cyborg fresh from war, left derelict here in Cyn City. I was good as dead to those fucking assholes. I’m no politician. Hell, even now I can barely talk about it without…” His voice caught in his throat.

Imogen let go, sliding around him. Her hand cupped either side of Enver’s jaw. She searched the pain-filled pools before her, curious how deep the wounds of his heart had cut into his soul.

“You’re so much stronger than you will ever know, Enver.” Pressing her lips hard against his, she broke away and hugged his neck. “You were put into an impossible situation, but doesn’t that make it all the more amazing what you’ve been able to do for those still living in this world. You care for the sick and injured, but it’s ok to let yourself be angry for what they put you through. Be angry for those who didn’t make it home because some politician who’s never even stepped foot into battle intended it to be that way. Be angry for being their dark secret swept under the rug.”

He reached up, running his silver fingers through her hair. She welcomed the metallic weight and sweep.

“Rest up.” Breaking away, she hid her face and the tears falling.

They were both broken, with only those in charge to blame for what they had been put through. Rushing through the door she shut it, leaning against the warm wood. She slid to the floor and let her tears finally fall She sobbed to think he carried something so heavy on his heart. He didn’t think he was kind, but she knew the truth. Kind people carry the dead around with them. Rubbing the tears away with the sleeve of her shirt, she pulled herself back to her feet. For now, she had to tend to the patients of the Ward while Enver healed.