Chapter Six

                                    

                                          
It's been three months now since Mako left. Three months of endless scavenging and stealing, of anxiety and the constant threat of starvation. I began collecting scraps soon after I left Sombra, and even made myself a cranky, crummy peg leg that sometimes buckles when I stand but is worlds better than the crutch. Hard to craft that with one hand, but that's the way things are now.
                          
Last week I woke up from a dream that Mako had come back. That he had apologized, and that I had a chance to make things up to him. When the dream faded all I could do was sit there, curled into a ball with my face pressed against my knees, trying to forget it. I thought I was over that, see. I thought I had moved on. Scary, realizing I hadn't.
                          
One day the wanted posters for Roadhog come down. There were dozens of them round the city and suddenly they all come down at once. I refuse to think about what that means, though of course I know. I just keep going about me day until I can't ignore it anymore.
                          
I can't help but feel it's my fault, even though he's the one that left. I didn't go looking. I didn't make any effort to contact him, not once. And now... well, now it's really too late.
                          
Feels awful, like someone's carved open my chest and ripped out something real important. I can't eat. I sit in my little hideout, staring blankly at the poster I managed to snag. It's not a good picture of him. Doesn't really show his character. I wish I had something better to remember him by.
                          
I stare at the photo for I don't know how long. It gets dark soon. Eventually I force myself to take a deep breath and fold up the poster. I can't keep on like this, not forever. I have to move on. Lose, move on. Lose, move on. I've done this a hundred times.
                          
This time is harder.
                          
I lay on my back, one arm over my middle, staring at the low ceiling. I try to think about tomorrow. Where I'll go for food. And I'll have to find a job again soon. Like anyone's gonna hire a kid with a peg leg and a missing arm.
                          
Something heavy thuds in the distance. I sit up suddenly and stare, eyes wide, trying to find where it came from. Another thump, closer this time. Footsteps on wood. I push myself to my feet and grab the knife from the floor next to the dying fire. Thud. Thud. Thud.
                          
Aw hell.
                          
I can't hold my own, not even against one junker. Every time I fought them off since I lost my leg, I had Mako to distract em. And if he's armed with anything better than a dull old kitchen knife...
                          
A huge man lumbers into the fading firefight. I drop the knife with a clatter.
                          
"Hey," he says in a deep, rumbling growl.
                          
I open my mouth but no sound comes out. He steps closer and flops down on the floor, staring at the embers.
                          
"You look well," he says.
                          
"You--" My voice sounds strangled. "You left me. You're dead."
                          
He chuckles, low and heavy, his huge shoulders shaking. "Yeah," he says. "Made sure they thought that."
                          
"Wha?" I sit down, not because I want to, but because I can't seem to stay on my feet.
                          
"They thought they killed me," he says. "They didn't."
                          
I can only stare at him, open-mouthed. He turns his head and regards me through the old hog mask. "Surprised?" he asks. I nod. "You thought I was leaving forever?" He snorts at the look on my face. "Idiot."
                          
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. "I thought you hated me," I blurt out. "I thought you left cause I-- cause I-- wasn't good enough--"
                          
"C'mere." Mako takes me by the shoulder and pulls me to his side. "I don't do that." His arm feels heavy round my shoulders as I sniffle.
                          
"I hate you, you big git," I say. "Don't you do that to me. I almost died."
                          
"You didn't," he says, softly. "You learned."
                          
"What was I supposed to have learned, anyway?" I demand, glaring up at him through tears. "That you're the real reason I'm still alive? Cause I've known that for years now."
                          
"That you're strong," he says.
                          
And finally I break down into sobs. All the fear and anger and sadness and hopelessness that I've tried to hide these long years comes spilling out at once. Mako squeezes my shoulder and says nothing. At first I try talking through the tears but since that's incoherent, I end up just blubbering all over him. He smooths down my hair with fingers surprisingly gentle for their size.
                          
"Promise me," I finally manage. "Promise me you won't never do that again."
                          
Mako nods.
                          
He keeps rubbing my arm even as I start to calm down, breathing deeper and slower. The fire dies and we're left in darkness.
                          
I don't remember falling asleep, but sometime later I wake up to Mako pulling a blanket over my shoulders.
                          
"Thanks," I mumble. I twist over in the blanket and huddle closer to his warmth. "Good man. Don't bother keepin' watch, you need your rest too."
                          
He chuckles, and soon I feel him lay down beside me on the dusty floor.
                          
The End