There were two cigar boxes, just sitting on the counter at the half bar in Matt’s kitchen. Both of them were the exact same, except one was open. Breaking the seal on that box was so much harder than it should have been. Was it the way he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling no matter how much he willed them to be steady? There was a chance it was just the guilt that was eating him up inside. It could have been a combination of both.
Grisham smoked these ones the most often.
There was as much smog of cigar smoke in his kitchen as there was a thick haze in his head. Everything had turned into a tangled blur since the moment the Commander had gone spinning off into nothingness. That had been the most terrible, terrifying, heart-stopping moment in Matt’s life. Being dragged into the office of the Head of Candidate Affairs and being informed of his mother’s death didn’t even touch losing Grisham Alberich out there. At least with his mother he hadn’t been there and there wasn’t any way he could blame himself for her dying.
Here he could heap guilt upon himself in spades.
Why hadn’t it been him? How many of the Hellions had been asking themselves that from the moment it happened? Matt knew most of them had thought it at least once, but in his case it seemed truly fitting to place the blame and burden on his shoulders. It had been a small technical problem. There shouldn’t have been any danger fixing it. So why hadn’t Grisham had him do it? He was the technopath. Would it not have been great experience for him? Had the Commander not trusted him to do it because he was the youngest and least experienced? Could they have avoided losing Grisham if he had just been a little better, more reliable, if he had been good enough?
They had all had to go through the Axis point. It had been Matt’s first time, and he still felt a dull ache throbbing through his head. Had the dragons questioned him longer than needed because of the extreme guilt he had felt the entire time? There had been nothing for him to hide, of course, and he wouldn’t have wanted to hide anything from them. Part of him wished they had found fault in him, had punished him in some way.
Matt deserved it.
Even if his incompetence wasn’t the reason Grisham had decided to correct the satellite himself, Matt should have done more once the skiff began spiraling out of control. It didn’t matter that he had tried – that he had tried so fucking hard to do something. Reaching out to the skiff had been futile, he had attempted to grab control of the systems, to counter the spin somehow, but it just wouldn’t respond to him and then it was just gone. The small ship had flung outside of his reach so damn fast that even if it hadn’t been damaged he probably couldn’t have corrected it in time. He should have been faster. Matt should have been better.
That just circled him right back to the beginning of his cycle of guilt – it should have been him.
In Haviah they had huddled together after their ordeal. How many of them were in a short of shock? He certainly felt like it couldn’t possibly be real. As soon as they had been cleared to leave Matt had come home to Adstreia. From the rail station he’d headed to a specialty store, bought two boxes of Grisham’s favorite cigars, a big bottle of brandy, and retreated to his apartment alone. He was on his fourth glass, so maybe that wasn’t helping his head.
All he knew was that he couldn’t face his squad mates right now. What right did he have to grieve with them? Logically Matt knew nobody was probably blaming him for it, but he couldn’t stop the guilt from trying to drown him. They all knew Grisham for longer, were closer to him. He was just the loud, annoying new kid that talked too much.
The Chatterbox.
Nobody wanted to listen to him cry over someone they knew better than him. That was just another reason it should have been him. Who cared if the Hellions lost Matthew Wright? He was no one, some dumb kid that hadn’t even earned his keep yet. The squad could easily go on and recover from him being gone, but Grisham? Could the Hellions even feel like the Hellions without him?
No, Matt couldn’t believe he was really gone.
That was why he had bought two boxes. The second one was for Grisham, for when he got back. Matt had to believe that the Commander was coming back. He wasn’t sure he could live with the guilt otherwise.
Vaguely he wondered what Grisham would have said if he was there, if he knew all the horrible things going through Matt’s head. Did he even know the Commander well enough to guess? Would he slap him upside the back of the head again? Matt was only a couple months short of having a baby coming into the world. How could he wish he had been the one left behind? Was he supposed to be relieved that he came home instead of Grisham so he could meet his daughter?
No, he didn’t feel relief. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Grisham was supposed to be here so that they could argue over whose turn it was to hold the baby. The Commander was supposed to be a bad influence and get Matt yelled at by Lukabelle when their started pretending to smoke cigars.
Hell, Matt could have gone years and years without even knowing he had a daughter. Lukabelle hadn’t wanted to tell him at first, and even then she hadn’t really wanted him involved. He’d just sort of forced his way in because of his own abandonment issues. His daughter would have been just fine without ever knowing he was her father. Lukabelle seemed a good woman with a sensible head on her shoulders. She would have taken care of Sunshine without him. His daughter could have been raised by another man, a father she wouldn’t have to worry about whether he was coming home or not any given day.
God, why was everything so fucked up?
His glass was empty again and the cigar was nearly burning his fingers. Matt didn’t hesitate to light up another before pouring himself a fifth glass. He should have bought more brandy – a lot more.
