A/N: Well, Legion has come, and with it lots of pain and another cliffhanger, so I wrote this, not to ease the pain, but to pass the time. This actually might make the pain worse, come to think about it. But that's why I marked this as angst and not humor. I posted a similar version of this on Tumblr, so if you see something that looks like this floating around then you have an explanation. I'm not a thief. Promise.

Spoilers for books up to Legion, so finish that before you read. No one wants spoilers.

Discailmer: Don't own, don't profit. Though that would be very cool, I will not lie.

Carl St. Caecilius was one of the older soldiers in the Western chapter house. That being said, he was still only 33. Garret personally knew him as the guy who hated scorpions more than Dragons. But according to everyone else, he was the guy who could get a can of beer at any given time, in any given place. After what Garret had done, betraying St. George, being partially responsible for the Patriarch's death, showing up with a bunch of dragons, he didn't expect Carl to give in to his request.

Surprisingly enough, he didn't even ask him questions.

"I sometimes forget that you've never lost a partner before, Sebastian," He said as he passed him one fifteen minutes after the request. "Don't start grieving for him yet, though. Tristan's still with us.

Garret nodded and pocketed it wordlessly. It's wasn't a secret that he was spending all of his spare time at his former partner's side. He wouldn't let him be alone when he woke up. But there was something else to take care of until then, so when he passed the infirmary he didn't go in.

If it were Tristan walking to their location instead of Garret, it would have taken fifteen minutes, tops. It would be such a familiar sight, the white crosses passing in his sight. Garret didn't know exactly where he had to go as he made his way further into the cemetery. He had only been there for three years, but the body count was already so high. The newest graves were only two days old.

Garret shook himself and kept walking until he found what he was looking for. In the rows white crosses was a gravestone shaped like the Star of David. One of around twenty since the chapter house was established in 1905. He knelt by it and sure enough, it was the one that he was looking for. Marcus Jacob Abendana, 1992-2013.

Garret swallowed thickly and stood again.

"Hi," He whispered hoarsely. "You… you don't know me. I don't know you, really, we've never met. But I've heard stories, and I'm sure Tristan has mentioned me a few times. He visits you, like clockwork, by the way. But if you can hear me wherever you are then you most certainly know that. I'm— I was… I was Tristan's partner after you."

He lapsed into silence, almost expecting a response.

"You were probably expecting him."

The gravestone remained silent and Garret sighed.

"Well, this month has been hectic. I wasn't here for the most part, but Talon attacked two days ago. They have clones now, attacked all of the chapter houses. Ours made it out. Obviously. Don't know about anyone else, but we did. And... allied with dragons. They're good, don't worry, they're breakaways from Talon. Even Angelo admitted they did good, and he's… well, Angelo. Don't know how well you knew him. And he was on painkillers when he said that, that might have... yeah."

The gravestone didn't respond. Garret closed his eyes.

"You're probably wondering why Tristan's not here. He's supposed to be here. He would want to be here." Garret took a shaking breath and looked away. "Marc, it's bad. If you saw him… he looks like he's dead. I didn't think I would outlive him, I never thought… He wasn't supposed to... Shit, this is why Tristan would come back crying half of the time, isn't it?"

The gravestone hadn't changed and Garret angrily wiped away tears. Back when he had just learned where Tristan went off to every seventeenth of the month, Tristan made him promise not to visit his gravestone if he was to die before Garret. To move on. Do what Tristan couldn't in a thousand years. Garret promised, but when the possibility truly faced him, when Tristan lay still as death in the infirmary, it was impossible to keep.

"I've done a shitty job replacing you, you could've done so much better if you had lived. I think I've taken a good five years off of his life through stupidity alone, and that's even if he does... if he wakes up."

The gravestone didn't respond.

"You can't have him, okay? Not yet. He—" Garret's lip trembled. "He still misses you, Marc. He really, really misses you. It's been three years and it hasn't gone away, not entirely. I think he sometimes still expects you to be there with him, but he's here and you're there. And we still need him up here, I still—" No one was around and he let tears spill down his face. "Don't take him yet. Please."

"The gravestone offered nothing.

"I'm sorry, Marc."

Silent.

Garret knelt next to Marc's gravestone and cracked open the beer. Marc had introduced Tristan to alcohol when they were both seventeen, so it only felt right to share it with him. One former partner to another. He poured most of it onto the ground and drank the rest.

A million years ago, he and Tristan went to a karaoke bar, where the beer tasted like fire. He shared his beer with Marc and it tasted like ashes.

A/N: Sorry for the sad. Not really. Please review if you can, it would make my day!