"Second chances."

Dust motes dance on the beams of late afternoon sunlight slanting through the small windows set high up in the walls. They actually look more like arrow slits from a medieval castle than ordinary windows, but I guess the years of warfare were bound to influence Arusian architecture in odd ways.

I wouldn't know. I wasn't here to watch the rebuilding of both lives and buildings, to see the process that led to the inevitable healing so apparent in the vital foreign city surrounding me. And it is a foreign city. There's no mistake about that. Sometimes I'll walk around a corner and see a familiar face or a glimpse of the castle looming over my head and the sudden rush of memory takes my breath away. I know we should go for a visit, but I don't think I can look Coran in the eye quite yet and be gracious for all he's give us. He had a part of you that I've spent years dreaming of, and no matter how selfish it might be, I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive him that.

Stupid, isn't it? I'm jealous for something I had and threw away, and resentful over the mess I left for him that night in the hospital.

On top of everything else, I don't know if I'm ready to face what the five of us did to Allura's legendary innocence. I thank God every day that they didn't interview her for that damn VH1 special that started this whole trip down memory lane. That's a guilt I'm not sure any of us is ready to face.

So instead, I wonder about architecture and rebuilding. I could ask you, I guess. It would give us something concrete to talk about later this evening, when it's too late to work but still too early to barricade myself in the safety of my room. My very own solitary room. I can't remember the last time I had a room all to myself, with no pressure and no promises except those that I've chosen to accept. No one but you would ever think to give me a gift that complete.

I still don't know how you can do this. I can barely look at myself in the mirror without cringing, and yet every time I catch your gaze all I can see in your eyes is hope.

As odd as it sounds, that hope is the reason I'm here, standing in a sunlit room on a world I never intended to set foot on again in this lifetime. That hope is my shrine in a godless life that so far has been filled with more death and depravity than goodness and love. That hope is everything.

"Second chances."

My voice catches as I whisper the words to myself. Part of me wonders where Lance is, and if that reporter ever gave him my message. I want so badly now to take those words back, to find him and tell him love is possible if you only you have enough hope. I never thought love would be enough, but now I hang to that childish ideal from dusk till dawn, clawing my way back into a world of laughter and sunlight.

I repeat them to myself like a mantra. A mantra to the religion of hope.

All right, so I know I'm being maudlin, but I can't help it when the need for a hit is running unchecked through my veins. I keep my hands either busy or clenched by my sides in the hope that you won't notice how badly they're shaking. I know you see it. What former addict wouldn't catch the telltale signs of withdrawal in another?

Still, you don't gloat, and you don't patronize. You're just so calm, and you keep looking at me with chocolate eyes nearly melting me with their warmth and hope and unconditional love.

"Second chances."

It's either repeat that phrase to myself or go crazy. I want to be here, with you. There's nowhere else in the universe that's home to me, not the way you are. And believe me, I know. I've seen more of the universe than I care to contemplate. I'm so fucking afraid, though. Sooner or later you're going to see through me, to the core of the coward that I know I am. Sooner or later you're going to regret this, and I'm going to lose everything. I don't think I can take losing you a second time.

Even in the face of that hope I don't believe in third chances, so we have to get this one right. So I move among the boxes like a ghost, working hard to set things right and put the shiny new equipment in exactly the right place, praying that you won't see through me. No matter how hard the temptation, I won't backslide, at least not yet. I'll fight the addictions with everything I have.

Just understand that I'm not doing this for me. If it was left to me, I'd probably be dead now, or so close as to make no conceivable difference. Pidge as I am wouldn't exist. No, this is for you, and for that whispered voice in the back of mind.

"Second chances."

I'll prove that my words were wrong. Second chances do exist. Love can be enough.

It has to be. All I have left is you.

Hunk's Voice 7, the exciting conclusion

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