Getting his fit out had been a sobering affair, after his meltdown in the back lot behind the pharmacy he had quickly been found by the second to worst person who could have come to find him.

Robert.

When he was concerned the good doctor had followed him out of the hospital he’d quickly found Robert and his mother Dinah watching him from the corner, wondering if he was alright. While the quick explanation that yes, he was fine, and no he wasn’t dying, had almost been amusing in his broken state he was at least grateful for the tea that Dinah had made for him.

When they had helped him into the building they’d brought him to the back room, which doubled as their living room and break room for the both of them. With a small tv and practically ancient furniture still made of magicless wood and fibers it had been a nice enough place to catch his breath and calm his heart after the feelings he’d had rushing through his heart and body.

Is this Spring Tea Leaf? The old lady must’ve spent so much money on this stuff it's a miracle she can keep this place open, let alone waste this stuff on someone like me.

Spring Tea Leaf was expensive for a reason, it was specifically bred with other magical tea leaves to produce leaves capable of calming the nerves, literally. The stuff would help your body produce chemicals in your brain specifically for calming you down, as well as lowering your adrenaline production and the chemicals that cause stress and anger.

There were even talks of having the stuff specifically produced for inmates, since it’d calm them down so much that they never got into fights or started riots. Albeit forcibly pumping prisoners with drugs doesn’t sound as humane as the politicians and other supporters of the act made it sound, it beat rowdy Altered’s breaking some poor guards neck because the cook behind the counter refused to give him an extra serving of rice or meat.

As I sipped the tea, my mind slowly fading away from the depressing emotions I had been feeling before, Dinah came back with some small cakes of all things she had probably made herself.

Why am I surrounded by angels today?

As she sat down across from me on an old rocking chair that probably cost more than she could afford, most likely something her own great-grandfather owned before the war, she began sipping from her own cup of tea.

“Life tends to get stressful these days, so I spend a good amount on these leaves, good right?”

I had barely even noticed she finished her cake before she had begun speaking. Giving a small smile I tried to keep the strain out of my voice, helped greatly by the tea.

“Life tends to throw curveballs at you, especially lately it seems.” Sipping more of the tea I looked away from her and at the uneaten cake in front of me. I didn’t even really want to eat it, regardless of how good it probably was.

“Yes… life tends to do such things to people. The recent issues with magic and the violence increasing hasn’t helped anyone. Sadly it seems it has even begun to affect those of us out of its way, almost on purpose.” She gave a sad chuckle as she looked towards me.

“Do you want to talk about it? It isn’t good to keep pain inside for so long, you’re too young to be going through so much so often.”

Looking back down I stared at the tea in my hands for a second. My ma had been my life for so many years, even before she had gotten sick. My own father had died when I was eleven. While he had been patrolling the southern border between the UL and the Commerce Guild he had managed to get lucky and capture the son of some bigwig cartel leader, even with how lucky he had already been in the process, downing at least a dozen times his squad’s numbers in soldiers and taking the man into custody. Even he had to know his luck was bound to run out eventually, and it did in the worst way possible.

As they were transporting the captive, and half a dozen other soldiers they’d captured who had either surrendered or been pacified non-lethally by his squad's equipment, they were ambushed in turn by the cartel half a mile away from the headquarters for his platoon. For three hours the gunfight ensued, both sides taking losses. From the reports the headquarters had been receiving their calls for backup the entire time, but the same place where they were sending the reports had also been the same place where a corrupt communications agent had been stationed. It took two and a half hours before backup eventually arrived, drawn by the massive quantities of gunfire and magic being fired into both each other and the surroundings.

From the official report, both sides had nearly wiped each other out, with over fifty dead cartel soldiers and a dozen dead UL soldiers. From the unofficial report that leaked years later from a survivor the cartel had slaughtered almost everyone within ten minutes, before the old man had used a dead squadmate's Altered corpse to shield himself and return fire. Cartel soldiers, being untrained and practically complete cowards, had hid behind cover and exchanged fire for almost two hours before one of their more trained and with the added benefit of being nearly impenetrable to bullet fire had arrived and killed him too.

Reinforcements arrived as they were mutilating his body so badly they had to have a closed casket at his funeral for his ‘Own Dignity’.

The son was never caught, having escaped with the Altered long before reinforcements got there.

The official story had painted my father as a hero, there was even a small statue placed in the base he had been trained in as a memorial.

However when the real story broke? To say there had been anger over the cover up would be an understatement. Protests, riots, even some of the generals in the army breaking clauses in their contracts and speaking out publicly against the coverup.

The resulting backlash against the military once the real story broke had been so severe they nearly tripped over themselves with apologizing. The corrupt communications agent had disappeared shortly after the incident, with the military and internal affairs division doing their best to try and track him down. At a certain point it had become apparent that he had already crossed the border, with them finding his vehicle just outside of it, so they were forced into dropping the investigation.

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My mother was understandably furious, treating a ‘war hero’ in their teams with such disrespect over their own image was disgusting, I think she still believed that the world was mostly good. I think she believed that the entire time she was alive, actually.

She spent most of the time we were together after my fathers death working and raising me in that order. I think some small part of her felt pain when she looked at me, the person that resembled her dead soulmate so much. I never really blamed her for that. I knew it wasn’t her fault, that she still loved me. She made it abundantly clear whenever we spent time together that she did, at least. Food was always ready after school, we went out on my birthdays, even went on a few vacations before shit got really bad and it wasn’t safe to travel anymore.

Overall the entire incident had been such a fuck up our family was in the news and the few papers that still printed for almost an entire year for one reason or another. It was my first experience with the leeches in the media and I had hoped even as a child it would be my last.

The next time I was forced into the media was ten times worse.

When the Ambrosia attacks had begun and the infection spread in earnest, very few people wanted to kill their loved ones. However when ninety percent of people defending their family members from being euthanized died from the infection as well, there was obviously a very large change in tone. It went from “we can’t give up on them!” to “we can hope god will forgive us, because there won’t be anyone left to do so if we don’t do this!” almost within the next week. The media spurring it on at all times on the news didn’t help either.

Entire city blocks were simply quarantined as doctors, medics, even nurses were sent around in full hazmat suits in an attempt to treat the inflicted as humane as possible. This merely started the second wave of infections once it became apparent that the magic didn’t care about PPE or anything not magical.

My mother wasn’t part of the first, or the second wave as she had technically been on health leave already. She’d been diagnosed with stomach cancer and had been staying at home to rest until they could transport in the tools and people required to remove it from her system. What was once a slow and painful death would have normally just been a week's wait and two hour operation.

Then she donned her work clothes and left the house without telling me.

I never even got to say goodbye.

After appearing at her work, and beginning to transport patient after patient from their homes that were still breathing something other than acid or blood, she started treating them in the already dwindling space they had in the hospital. For three days I was stuck at home while she worked, no phone calls, no visits for risk of exposure, just three days while I sat at home crying because I knew I was losing a second parent.

And, two weeks later, at the age of twenty-five I received a phone call. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound at first, before scrambling off the couch the nearly knocking over a vase expensive enough to risk my mother beating me hard enough to actually bruise, not caring in the vain hopes it was my mother telling me she was fine and that everything would be alright.

Instead I got the first of thousands of phone calls from reporters, asking me about my mother and myself, angry rants from protesters demand I pay for almost starting another wave of infections, like I wanted my mother to be there anymore than any of them did, and countless calls from pieces of shit who just wanted to vent their own fears and hatreds towards the only person they could find.

I found out later that the only reason they even found my phone number was because a former employer had posted it online, which the media quickly proved by calling me and ‘accidentally’ spreading the information during their reporting. Apparently forcing some teenager to flip burgers for less than they were worth while abusing them for two years constantly wasn’t enough, he had to get the final lick in after I quit.

After thousands of phone calls and the eventual finding of my address I’d practically barricaded myself in my bedroom. I hadn’t eaten in days when the sound of vehicles screeching and angry protestors getting forced away from the building echoed throughout the street.

Apparently, while I was stuck at home, the hospital had attempted to contact me, but couldn’t because of the massive amount of people constantly dialing my number. At this point I had also completely destroyed any electronics I owned in a fit of grief, so I couldn’t even get their email or the dozen other ways they had tried to contact me.

After looking out the window and seeing Beaters and medical staff alike outside my house I tore away the furniture blocking my door and practically tore it off the hinges trying to get downstairs to see if my mother was fine.

Outside, stood four Beaters and a doctor, Doctor Hobbs. In a tone as kind as he could muster, which basically meant he kept the annoyance at having to leave the hospital at all to a minimum, he informed me that my mother had to be placed into a Quarantine Ward with other survivors in a magically induced coma to protect her from dying of the disease.

And that was the day I think I truly lost my mother, the realization just hadn’t hit me yet.

Finally breaking away from unpleasant memories, and the realization that I was now almost completely alone in life, I looked up to Dinah and said the only words that I could really think of.

“She’s finally leaving me, and I- I can’t even believe I held onto hope this long that she never would.” The last of the words barely came out in a choked whisper, even the tea was barely able to suppress the grief over the loss of my mother.

Dinah seemed to soften at the words, realizing that the pain I was in was either as bad as she thought or worse.

“Listen, Mark, things like this in life, they can seem insurmountable at first.” As she began speaking she refilled both of our cups with her tea,

“But love, even when we think it unbreakable, it’s something that can come and go from our lives, and we move on and find new people we cherish even more.” What kind of consolation is this? How do I lose the love from my mother and love someone else more?

“You and Rebecca-” Rebecca? What? “What about Rebecca?” I interrupted her. “This has nothing to do with Rebecca, I was talking about my mother.” she seemed shocked at first, before looking at the door and back to me. “I thought you had broken up with Rebecca dear, I-I’m so sorry that must’ve seemed very cruel to say.” Dinah seemed almost confused for a moment, before apologizing and drinking more of her tea,

“Your mother was a very kind woman, Mark, make no mistake about that.” At least shes consoling me over the right thing now. Why would she think I was talking about Becca of all things?

She reached over and patted my hand a few times, before squeezing slightly and letting go. “She and I were good friends before she… left us, and while I understand coming to terms with losing one's mother seems impossible I can promise you the pain fades.” She looked back at me again before putting her tea back down. “I lost my own mother when I was but a girl, barely any older than you are now.” Her sad smile returned for a moment before disappearing. “But I had friends around me, and my own heart to lead me forward. I went to school, I studied, and I met people in my life that helped me through my pain.”

“I loved my mother dearly, as dearly as you love your own, and the pain from losing her lasts even today. But, I understood that death is a natural part of life, and it takes strength to be able to accept that and work towards moving on.” As she kept speaking I looked away from her and back towards my tea. My mother had never truly ‘died’ to me, always just a year away, a month away, a day away from being able to talk to me again. To go out and reminisce on days lost and promising to make up for them together. When the reports of traveling being safer after the army had cleared most of the nests in between traveling routes, I dreamt of asking her when she woke up to go visit some her favorite vacation spots, regardless of the cost or debts I would go into to do so.

If I couldn’t visit those spots with her, maybe I could go alone? Would that help? At least then after everything was over and we met again in whatever afterlife existed I could tell her I beat her to the places she’d wanted to see. Maybe laugh about the things I had done while young and stupid.

Maybe then we’d be happy.

Putting the tea down onto the table I looked up to Dinah. She had this far off look on her face like she was remembering times with her own mother. If she could make and succeed in her own happiness, maybe I could too?

“Thank you Dinah, I mean that. I have spent so long fighting this, I didn’t ever stop to think about the if, yknow? What if she died, what then? I never prepared, I didn’t even plan a burial because the thought scared me so badly.” By the time I’d finished speaking I had already lifted myself up by my cane.

Standing up to meet me she wrapped me in a large hug and squeezed me as tightly as her small form could.

“You be good dear, you understand? No more games or messing around with your friends. Live your life as your mother would have wanted, it’s the best thing you could do to honor her memory.” By the end of the hug I was grateful for the tea, because I knew I’d probably be crying again.

“I will Dinah, thank you, for everything.”