Summary: Marcus recalls the memory that goes with the scar that adorns the right side of his face. *Some spoilers for "Gears of War: Aspho Fields"

Rating: PG – 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Gears of War, all characters are being borrowed for the sake of fan fiction and will be promptly returned. Gears of War is property of Epic Games, "Aspho Fields" is a wonderfully written novel about the Gears universe by Karen Traviss.

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He sat there with a hand trailing down his face with a harsh sigh. Dom had asked him the most difficult questions and he didn't know how to give him the answers. Bernie had done the hard part and she had done what he couldn't. However, it was still difficult to let go; difficult to relive.

His armor lay in the corner of the room, bulky, heavy, but the only good uniform he ever felt proud of wearing. Twisting around and lying back against the cot, the springs creaking under the weight. Marcus's blue eyes were trained on the ceiling as his ungloved hand traced the scar on the right side of his face. Along with his armor he'd taken off his bandanna, washed it, and set it aside to dry. Dom's words echoed in his head, an ever-present ringing that would not cease.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The answer he gave him was the only one he knew how to give. He traced the scar again and shut his eyes, reliving the single moment on that bridge at Aspho Point. Remembering the look in Carlos' eyes as he laid there, the pin stuck and the wound he'd suffered bleeding profusely.

The look was pure pain as he was rooted to the spot as time seemed to freeze. In his minds eye, he felt like he was in a movie going in slow motion. A three-hundred sixty degree view of every single detail, every sound, every voice. The single thought that brought him back to focus a moment too late as the pin was finally pulled and he was blown backwards.

White light crossed his vision, searing heat burned his body as he flew for what seemed like hours when in reality it was only seconds. Pain filled his body upon impact with the ground as he heaved himself up to see what was left. The right side of his face felt like it had been burned clean off but he pushed the feeling aside as he made his way towards the remains of his best friend, his brother.

Holding the pile of flesh that was once a man, a family member, rocked him to the core. Getting the shrapnel, rocks, and metal pulled out of his face hurt like hell. Seeing the stitches that held the flaps of skin together was a heart-breaking reminder. The funeral made him feel numb, the entire time standing there thinking about what more was lost even though they'd won the war. From that moment forward, he knew he'd never be the same again. As he knelt at the grave and buried his Embry Star there with the man more deserving than himself, he knew that he'd never feel the same.

And now almost 20 years later, lying on a creaky cot tracing that scar and remembering everything gave him courage to not make the same mistakes again with the one brother he had left.

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