✓ ❘ 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐈𝐈: 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 ─ 𝐁. 𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇs

Those nights were usually the nights you'd call Spencer, and he'd tell you that he couldn't sleep either and that he wishes that he had stopped Brendon from getting on that quinjet. Then you'd tell him not to blame himself, and that it wasn't his fault.

Both of you knew it was a lie.

Because it was his fault.

And it was your fault, too.

It was everyone's fault.

Because if one of you, just one, would've run faster or yelled louder or done something, then Brendon would still be alive.

Both of you knew it was a lie.

But you said it anyways.

Every time.

Because that's the thing about feeling guilty over a loved one's death; no matter how much you convince yourself that you are in some way to blame, there's always a part of you that wants – that needs – someone to try and convince you that you aren't. And that – that is crucial in the healing process. If there's someone else that still has faith in you, then there's a reason for you to collect all the broken parts and fix yourself up again.

That's why you were so thankful that you had Spencer – and him, you – because you helped each other heal, even if it was fraction by fraction. You weren't immensely close, the two of you. Those late night talks weren't too frequent and your conversations regarding the topic were few and far in between, but still, the two of you shared a warped bond that allowed a sense of camaraderie and a pillar of trust to form. You knew that in a few months time you probably wouldn't be as close as you are now, but the relationship's foundation was set in stone, and despite neither of you having verbally said it, you both knew that you would always be there for one another if the other needed it.

"What are you looking at, Smith?" you snapped, hatefully squinting at the man as you climbed the steps.

He scoffed and looked you up and down before declaring, "Nothing much."

"Funny," you cocked your head to the side as you poked your tongue at the inside of your cheek and pretended to think. Then, you shut him down with a single sentence. "That's exactly what Linda said when I asked her what she thought of you."

Spencer stopped dead in his tracks and watched you with a blank expression as you continued upwards, sniggering as you took each step.

"That was uncalled for," he said solemnly.

"Your face is uncalled for," you replied tauntingly, reaching for the door to the tech room.

"You're such a child," he groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Looking over your shoulder, you stuck your tongue out at him, causing both of you to burst out laughing before you waved goodbye and stepped in to see Dallon.

The room was dark, with the only bit of illumination coming from the abundance of active computer and holographic screens. You took careful steps, looking down as you did so to make sure that you didn't accidently step on some important documents scattered on the floor or trip over some complex gadget.

"Dallon?" you called out to the techie, not able to see him in the bad lighting.

Soon after, a head popped out from behind a particularly big computer screen with a seemingly startled expression on its face.

"Oh, (Y/N), hey, um..." Dallon tripped over his words, hands rushing to get rid of the evidence of what he'd been busy with. "What are you doing here?"