Author's note: Angst. Experimenting with a slightly different style in this one, and I'm not entirely sure it worked, so feedback is desperately craved!

Disclaimer: Voltron belongs to WEP.

When It Rains

Broken.

Fractured.

Shattered.

Like the window.

Not this window, he remembered distantly. This window was still whole.

It kept out the wind, held back the rain lashing through the night sky.

He rested his head against the pane, letting the cold envelop his temples. Winced a little as he raised his bandaged hand to press against the glass as well.

If he pushed a little harder . . .

Like this morning.

Lance said he had been passing by, had heard the crash and tinkle of the falling glass, and come in to help.

He knew differently. Knew that Lance had been assigned to watch him for that space of time. They didn't trust him anymore. They felt they needed to watch him . . .

They were all frightened of him now.

That would have hurt had he anything left with which to feel.

Lance hadn't even been able to look at him while picking the shivers of glass out of his hand. Had hardly spoken a word while dragging him to the infirmary. Had disappeared while his hand was treated.

*Lance.*

Pidge had been there, all forced gaiety and careful cheer when he'd been released. The silent conversation between the doctor and the boy, the sad shake of the head and resigned nod, had been easier to bear than the inane chatter.

Pidge had taken him outside, made him walk in the gardens, full of "the fresh air will do you good" talk. Finally, when the wind kicked up, bringing the scent of rain, the boy had relented and decided to head back inside. But he'd stopped, letting the breeze ripple through his hair, eyes closed, and forced Pidge to lead him in unwillingly.

The real reason for the walk wasn't to see if the change of air would improve him.

It was to disable the lock on his door.

He closed his eyes, letting the darkness a step closer. The rain drummed loudly outside.

He'd cut his hair, trimmed the wild mane that had flourished while. Exchanged the rags he'd worn for his familiar clothes. They fit looser now, but that was all. When he looked in the mirror, he saw himself.

Except for his eyes. Haunted. Hunted.

His eyes gave away the whole of the story at which his body only hinted, confessed that he was a madman.

The way none of the others would meet his gaze told him that they saw the same thing.

Just a little harder . . .

The swirl of laughter and music drifting up the bright corridor distracted him. Involuntarily, he turned from the window, toward the spill of light marking the doorway.

The party. Supposedly in his honor.

The reason he'd made it as from his room as he had.

Eyes accustomed to darkness ached and watered. He turned away, returned to the window, smiling faintly at finding the pane fogged with his breath. He remembered, long ago, drawing pictures in the steam . . .

Allura had invited him, was her kind and gracious self, ignoring Keith's frantic silent movements.

He'd caught sight of them from the corner of his eye, the violent motion of a hand across a throat as his best friend tried to tell the Princess he wasn't stable enough to be around unsuspecting people.

The glass was still warm when he replaced his hand on the pane. Given the chill of the rain and the room, it should have been cool again.

Just a little harder . . .

Maybe he could find his sanity again.

"Sven."

*Adrenaline fight surge* someone sneaking up behind . . .

Hunk. That cracked bass voice could belong to no one else.

Slowly, trying not to show his surprise, trying to slow his suddenly racing heart, he looked over his shoulder to the light again. It was blocked by his friend's impressive bulk.

Shadows hid Hunk's expression as he stepped into the dark room. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

Though he knew who it was, knew it was one of his friends, he still couldn't stop watching the big man warily. Every muscle quivered, poised for flight

One more lingering effect from when.

Hunk stopped, perhaps sensing his tension, perhaps letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light.

Away from the light, he could make out Hunk's face now, the broad features creased in concern, though he tried to smile.

"I couldn't take the party, either," Hunk went on, deep voice strangely soothing, even as he moved closer. "Sometimes I just can't be around so many people." Then he halted, standing beside him, silent for a moment.

"Oh, Sven," he whispered. "Please don't do that again."

He followed the other's gaze. Stared at his own white bandaged hand, pressed against the window. Immediately, his eyes flicked back to Hunk's face again, ready to lash out *don't touch me get away* if it seemed he was going to reach . . .

But Hunk didn't stir, merely observed him, his face a study in shadows.

His heart thudded painfully *too close too close too close* in his ears. But he couldn't move, not yet.

Movement gave the other all the advantage . . .

Suddenly, he turned away. This was one of his friends. He wasn't back there.

Just a little . . .

Only the voice reached out. "Please don't, Sven." Quiet, less than a whisper, but he heard the plea over the sound of the rain. His senses hyper alert, he heard the rustle of fabric as Hunk shifted position. But he didn't touch . . . merely spoke, his words vaguely disturbing.

"This morning, after you broke the window in your room . . .Lance was upset. That's why he left you in the infirmary. He *had* to. He was just about hysterical when he came to get the rest of us. It took me and Keith almost a half hour to calm him down again." The voice cracked further. "He thought you were trying to kill yourself, and . . . he just couldn't handle it.

"None of us could. We've just gotten you back, and now . . ." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

Sven closed his eyes, resting his head against the cool glass again. He wasn't trying to suicide. All I want, he thought a bit plaintively, all I want is my sanity, my *self* back. If I have to die to get it . . .

"Say something." It wasn't an order, or even a request. Hunk's tone *begged* him to respond. "You haven't said a word since you returned . . ."

That's because there's nothing to say, Hunk, Sven thought, the words formed with perfect clarity in his mind. He was a bit startled; it was the first time in a long time that he'd been able to string so many words together coherently. He still did not look at his companion. I'm not *whole* anymore. I'm broken, just like the window in my room . . . and I need to find a way to heal myself before I . . .

"We can't help you unless you tell us . . ."

Sven shook his head at the words, rolling his forehead against the window, not negating that they could help him, but that he could say anything. I have to do it myself, he thought. I have to find myself, to make myself . . . *real* again . . . I have to.

"Sven . . ." He paused, obviously weighing his words. "We just want to help you."

This time, Sven didn't even move, gave no indication he knew the other was still there. Hunk sighed.

"We all still love you. We don't want to lose you, not to . . . whatever horror they did to you, not to yourself. You're still *our* Sven, no matter what they did to you; you're still our friend.

"Keith wants his second back, wants his best friend back so badly that he's almost afraid. Lance just wants to be close to you, but he doesn't want to scare you, and he . . . he's lost. Pidge has lost so much that he can't stand to lose any more. The only way he can deal with his fear that you'll . . . leave again is to talk, to talk you in to staying."

"And you?" The whispery, rusty quality of his voice surprised Sven almost as much as the ache in his heart, the feeling of something he'd never thought he'd know again.

Hunk didn't mark his words with anything more than a faint smile, though they were the first anyone had heard Sven speak since his return. "Oh, I just try to keep the team together as best as I can," he said quietly. "But I need my friend back, too."

Sven didn't answer, trying to find the words he needed. The beat of the rain could not fill the silence.

Hunk found some words of his own. "Come back to us, Sven." The way his voice deepened, cracked, made Sven look up at him again. Hunk held out his hand. "Please." His face was earnest in the dim light.

The most difficult thing he'd ever done was not grabbing hold of the gibbering voices of fear, floating at the edges of his mind, and trying to silence them. It was not controlling the tremble in his hand as he reached back, nor hiding his instinctive recoil from the warmth of Hunk's palm.

No, the most difficult thing was trying to decide whether he should be relieved or upset that Hunk could see his fear well enough to know not to pull him into his arms.

Hunk smiled at him, a bit sadly, no doubt seeing both his need for the feeling and his equal dread, but did not pull him closer, as with his greater strength, he no doubt could have done.

Perhaps, right now, the clasp of his hand was enough.

"Sven . . ."

He turned sharply toward the door again, and saw three dark silhouettes, starkly outlined by the light behind them. It was Lance who had spoken, and Sven could tell by the thick tone of his voice that he was holding back tears by the force of his will alone. Pidge wasn't even trying, but his soft sobs were nearly hidden in the keen of the wind. Keith stood silent, but he stared at Sven, and it seemed that he was biting his lip.

Hunk relaxed his grip, releasing Sven's hand. "Go on," he whispered, so softly that Sven could barely hear him. "Let them know you're back."

He wasn't, Sven knew. It would be a long time before he was back. But at least now, he thought he could find the way.

Hunk faded back as Sven stepped away from him. He sagged heavily against the wall near the window, watching as the other three clustered around their found teammate, though they wisely refrained from touching him.

He understood now why he had needed- *needed* to break the window. He'd had to see something more broken than he himself was. But nothing could be more broken than their team without him.

He could still feel eyes on him, and glancing over his shoulder, he saw Hunk leaning against the wall, studying him solemnly. With an effort, Sven summoned up a smile for his friend, a ghost of its former self, probably, but all he could offer right now.

And he had his reward when Hunk smiled brilliantly in return.

The way back, indeed, might be shorter than he imagined.

***

June 20, 2002

© randi (K. Shepard), 2002.