Lance's eighteenth birthday had come, and gone, but he could not resume work on his Hunchback. The storm had brought the hillside onto the 'Mech's head. Rocks hidden beneath the surface had destroyed the framework Lance and Michael had reconstructed. He would have excavated and reconstructed, but another issue tied him home.

Shortly after his eighteenth, his mother had fallen ill. She was bedridden, and hooked to a beathing apparatus. Immobile, but completely aware. Due to Lance's father's ties to house Davion as a MechWarrior, the house was paying for his mother's treatment. However, he still had to come home early every day to take care of her. Due to his now part time employment, pay was slim, and Lance no longer had any time or money for his own personal ambitions. He'd kept this secret from everyone he could. Naturally, he couldn't keep it from Michael or George. Michael would need some explanation for the cease in progress towards the Hunchback. George needed some sort of justification for Lance's shorter hours.

Beyond that, life working in the depot remained largely unchanged. George continued to teach him new ways to repair and maintain BattleMechs, and did all he could to aid Lance and his mother. Most days, Lance would be repairing 'Mechs. Others, he'd be helping to organize the warehouses.

Over a year, this went on. Lance was nineteen now. His mother got no better, but remained stable. All the treatment seemed to do was suppress the symptoms. Paying the bills became his purpose for existence. Lance had all but cut himself off from everyone around him, devoting his entire existence to keeping his mother fed, housed, warm, and keeping her prescriptions up to date. He stopped screwing around with Mikey, stopped hearing George's counsel. Still, he pressed on.

Eventually, Michael had to ask about this. Regardless of if Lance answered, he at least had to ask. He approached while Lance was preparing to secure an armor plate to the torso of a medium 'Mech. He watched Lance guide the industrial 'Mech to position the armor piece in its designated place. Immediately across from him was Michael, carrying a large bit-driver the size of a machine gun. At his side were multiple two-foot-long bolts intended to hold the armor piece in place.

"Hey, Lance." Michael tried to grab Lance's attention. Lance responded only out of courtesy. Silence fell between the two, as Lance began fastening the armor to the 'Mech's frame.

"When do we get back to work?" Asked Michael.

"We're working now." Answered Lance, dryly. There was no eye contact, no personality in his voice. He had no desire to converse with anyone.

"I mean on the Hunchback. I'd hate to see two months of work go to waste."

"Whenever mom gets better. That's assuming I'm able even after that."

"What do you mean?"

"I've learned a lot in the last two years. I've learned a lot about BattleMech technology, I've learned why one needs a good work ethic, and I've learned my place in life."

"What have you learned to be your place?" Michael grew concerned. This was not something he knew Lance to say. He knew Lance to be a little more defiant than that. He knew Lance to have a desire to carve his own path through his life, not to just sit and accept whatever was handed to him.

"Mom can't take care of herself anymore. She needs me here. Why am I telling you this? I've told you before."

"Because deep down, I know you don't think that. Are you really content to just be like this?"

"What I'm content with is irrelevant. The facts, on the other hand are."

Michael was appalled at just how drastically Lance had changed. Extra responsibilities normally wouldn't do this. This led Michael to think there's more to this. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked.

"Nothing I need to bother you about." answered Lance. He drove the bolts into the armor, and frame. The low droning whine cut off and drowned out any further conversation between the two. Michael begrudgingly followed suit. Anger grew within Michael. Not at Lance, but at his inability to help him. For the first time in their entire friendship, Michael felt useless, like he truly couldn't do anything. It hurt him inside.

Lance returned home that afternoon shortly after he finished fastening that armor plate to the 'Mech's frame. Right as he entered his mother's room, where she lies immobile, her breathing apparatus malfunctioned. She gasped, and reached to her right where the device stood. Lance rushed over to the machine. "Let me handle it!" He shouted. Not out of anger, but out of fear. She pulled her hand back to her side.

His first step was a risky one. He had to disable the machine itself in order to safely inspect all its pressurized systems. "You need to trust me here, ma." He said, and looked at his mother. Through the mask, and the breathless fear, he saw a knowing smile, and she nodded.

He cut power off from the machine so he could safely inspect it. He had to work fast. She'd already been without air long enough to cause severe discomfort. He pulled the front panel off the machine and hastily inspected the inner workings. "Overengineered piece of shit!" he barked. All it needed was an air filter, an air compressor, and some way of routing power to said compressor. Anything and everything else was just another point of failure.

It didn't take long for Lance to find the issue. The plug between the compressor and the pressure sensor and display had come loose. A stupid safety precaution to automatically cut off air if the sensor were to fail. He pushed the plug back into the jack, repairing the connection, and wrapped the connection point in electrical tape he'd pulled from his tool belt. "Slip out of that." he said condescendingly. He placed the front panel back on the machine and plugged the power back into the wall. Immediately, it resumed feeding air back to his mother.

She gasped for air, and caught her breath. It took her a minute to gain the strength just to thank her son. "It's why I'm here." He answered.

"But it shouldn't be." she replied. Her voice was soft, raspy, empty. There was no breath or soul behind it. "You shouldn't be stuck here helping me."

"If I don't who will? George has his own woman to take care of. Michael has his own apartment to look after. I'm the only one who's ever here."

A tear fell down her cheek. Lance smiled. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked.

"Some proper treatment for whatever's wrong with me."

Lance wanted so badly to laugh, if it weren't for the tragic truth behind the statement. Sure, House Davion was paying for her treatment because Lance's father served as a MechWarrior, but all this "treatment" ever did was suppress the symptoms. She hasn't even left her bed for anything beyond doctor's appointments in almost a month.

"Oh," she said, barely. "That reminds me, the mail came in today. I haven't been able to check on it though."

Lance nodded, and walked over to the family computer. Immediately as he powered it up, an HPG notification filled the entire lower right corner of the screen. The notification only had the Federated Suns emblem on it, with no other text. "Oh, shit." he said. "That can't be good." The last time he'd received a notification like that was when he heard of his father's death.  He clicked the link, and read the message. His heart sank quickly, as the house was rather direct with the news they conveyed.

It read, "Dear Edmund and Miranda Trephore. We hope this message reaches you in good health."

'Bullshit.' Lance thought to himself. Anger rising behind his eyes. He continued reading.

"It has come to our attention that Miranda Trephore's treatment has proven ineffective over the last sixteen months. While we appreciate James Trephore's service as a MechWarrior, and mourn his untimely demise, we cannot continue to divert resources to a task when these resources are proving ineffective. Therefore, we have made the decision, effective immediately, that we will no longer fund Miranda Trephore's treatment, and will divert said funding towards the war effort. We recommend looking to friends and extended family for support in this trying time, and we apologize for this inconvenience.

Sincerely, House Davion."

Lance was furious. "Well fuck you all!" He pitched the table on its side, damaging the monitor for the family computer. "You fucking bureaucrats!" He stormed into his mother's room. No anger was turned towards her, but he held a special fury for House Davion at this moment. He looked at his mother. Where usually, he felt love, and admiration for the woman, he felt only fear, and uncertainty. He sat on the bed next to her. He looked at the apparatus, a symbol of her illness, and looked back at her. Where once she was the strongest woman Lance knew, he saw something he almost didn't recognize. Something small, fragile, sad.

"Ma," he said, his voice shaking. Tears formed in his eyes. "I don't know how this is gonna work."

"What's wrong, son?" He could barely hear her over the torrent of thoughts in his mind.

"The house is cutting payment for your treatment." He could barely finish the thought before breaking down. "How do we survive now?"

"You still can." his mother said. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Like hell I don't. You made me into what I am today. You and George both. What kind of ass would I be if I just up and left?"

"The kind that has a future. He's just scared to pursue-"

"No!" Lance spoke in a direct, and matter of fact tone. "I'm not just gonna leave you. I can't. I'd never let myself live it down. You gave me everything I have and am. That's not how I intend to repay you."

Tears now fell from his mother's eyes. There was fear and sorrow in these tears to be sure. But this was so far eclipsed by the love they held.

"I'll figure it out." said Lance. "I always do."

"I know you do, son." her breath was shaken, and yet there was genuine faith behind it. "You have so much of your father in you. You should get some rest, Lance. We've a long, tumultuous road ahead."

That night brought him no rest, and the next day brought him no solutions. His mother's next visit to the clinic was that day. He'd soon find out just how screwed he and his mother were. The entire drive, his mind was filled with dread. He knew medical services to be expensive, but he didn't know how much more. He didn't have any time to research anything, and couldn't reschedule the appointment. He'd have to find out the hard way.

He parked his truck in the designated parking space, and tenderly helped his mother into her wheelchair. The breathing apparatus was next to come down. He set the machine on a rack mounted on the side of the wheelchair. Mother pushed the joystick forward, and the machine jerked in that direction. He followed closely, as if he were her personal bodyguard. He opened doors, and checked into the clinic. All around him was wartime propaganda promoting the Federated Suns, and denouncing its enemies.

'Bullshit. Utter bullshit.'

Lance sat in the waiting room next to where his mother parked her wheelchair. The subtle whine of the apparatus only served to remind him of his role in life. A small part of him wished to hear the doctor say his mother was dying. Once he realized this, he wasted no time dismantling and banishing the thought.

'How could I think such a thing?' he asked himself. 'I'm here to help her, and I should be glad of it.' War raged in Lance's mind. As hard as he tried, the thought of his mother's death always returned. He'd be free of his current responsibilities, free to rebuild the Hunchback, free to pursue the life he wanted for himself, not to mention, Mother would be free from here illness. But every time, it was shot down by the thought of losing his mother.

A few short minutes felt like hours to Lance. This war in his mind is one he's been fighting for too long. He loved his mother more than he loved himself. He owed everything he was to her, and refused to let it all go.

"Miranda Trephore?" an aged male voice called out. The man was completely bald with thin-rimmed glasses. Lance saw the data scrolling down the lenses. "We're ready for you now."

Lance stood to guide his mother on her wheelchair to the office where the doctor would see her. "I assume this visit is just like the last one?" Lance interrogated the man.

"To what are you referring?" asked the doctor. Mother tried to stop Lance. "Lance, don't."

"I'm referring," Lance continued. "To the utter lack of results you guys are pulling out of your asses. I'm paying for this out of pocket now, and I want to get my money's worth. Since this is going to take up all of my money now, I want to see her better."

The doctor looked confused. "You're James Trephore's son, right? James was the MechWarrior."

"Yeah, not that that matters apparently."

"The house should be paying for the treatment, I would think. This shouldn't be an issue."

"Well, it is." Lance's irritation was obvious now.

"I wish we could magically do away with your mother's illness." The doctor's tone, though matter of fact, held a measure of sincerity. "I really do. But what your mother has requires something we don't have access to. All we can do is keep her alive. We can't get her back to normal. While it's theoretically possible she develops her own immunity to the virus, I wouldn't hold my breath."

"Does such treatment exist?" asked Mother.

"Yes," answered the doctor. "But only closer to the core worlds. You'd be all but guaranteed to find in near New Avalon "

"In case you couldn't guess by looking at us," replied Lance. "We aren't exactly that well off. I could barely keep us afloat before the house cut her funding."

"I'm not sure what to tell you, Mr. Trephore. Sometimes we need to make the hard choices. I wish I could hand you a solution, but none are apparent to me."

The appointment proceeded as normal from there. The doctor asked Mother questions about her symptoms, drew blood for later analysis, and prescribed medication based on the results from the last test. Same useless cycle Lance and his mother have been stuck in for over a year. He approached the front desk to check out and see the damage this visit would do to his wages. The bill for this treatment would easily eclipse his monthly pay. This was a visit that occurred every week.

"This is odd." the receptionist said. Her voice was laced with that disingenuous politeness that was more obligation than anything. A tone Lance could barely tolerate.

'If you don't care, then don't try and sound like you do.'

"It seems your House Funding didn't go through?" Her voice was unflinching.

"That's because they cut off the funding. They said she took too long to get better." Lance didn't even try to conceal his irritation.

"That's unfortunate. I suppose you'll be paying out of pocket going forward?"

"I'll pay what I can. Is there some sort of payment plan we can sort out?"

Lance and the receptionist discussed such payment plans. None of which allowed him to afford both basic needs like housing or food, and his mother's treatment. He'd go along with it for now, but he needed to find some other source of income, even if it exists solely for the sake of paying for his mother's care.

The drive home was just as stressful as the drive to the clinic. The road was long, and the air was heavy with dread and uncertainty. He looked in the rear-view mirror at his mother many times while driving.

'What do I do?' he thought to himself. 'Do I take her up on her advice to leave? It'd be easier. I'd get to work on my Hunchback. No! I'd just exchange one burden for another. I'd exchange all that responsibility for even more guilt. How dare I call my own fucking mother a burden?! What do I call her? Call her mother, asshole! That's what she is, and that's why I'm helping her. I should take pleasure in helping her. She's given so much for me, including her health. The least I can do is help her get some of that back. I should do more. I need to give her everything, just as she did for me. But then I'd have nothing. Nobody cares about that. Nobody cares about what you have, or whether you have anything. Nobody cares about me, and no one has any reason to. She cares about me. Goerge cares. Mikey cares. They can help. No! Don't ask for anyone's help. I'd exchange one debt for another. That does nothing. I have to save myself. No one else can save me. No one wants to save me. I have to save myself. What would dad do? He'd probably die. He seems to be pretty good at that. Why would I think that?! He died for me, for mom, for George, for Mikey, for all of us. I'm not even half the man he was. Even then, that's twice the man I'd need to be. He'd figure it out. He always figured it out. He couldn't figure out how to survive. Shut up, asshole! I'm not allowed to fail. Not allowed to feel. Not allowed to show. I've failed in that. I'm angry, outwardly so. I'm vulnerable. Not allowed to be vulnerable. Not allowed to fail.'

His gaze was blank for the entire drive home. He was in every possible way, at war with himself. Tears started falling down his cheek. Mother took notice, and started to speak. Lance held up a gentle hand, and gestured towards silence. "Don't waste your breath on me, mother. I have to figure this out myself."

"No, you don't!" she said. A ferocity in her voice he hadn't heard in months. "Dammit, Edmund, you're so selfless it's become selfish. You are easily the best son a mother could ask for, but that doesn't make you all-powerful. You can't figure everything out on your own." She wanted to continue, but had run out of breath. The pressure sensor on the apparatus trilled its warning.

"No one else can help us." Lance answered. His voice shaking, on the verge of weeping. 

'I'm not allowed to feel, dammit! Cut the tears.' He forced his tears back down, and stored the sorrow where he usually did.

"I'd just exchange one debt for another." His tone now was cold, and his breath was soulless. "That does nothing. I can get you your treatment, but I need you to not question how, or what sort of assets we have after the fact. You need to keep your breath for yourself. You barely have enough for yourself as it is."

Miranda wept. She knew now she couldn't convince her Edmund to stop; to take the many, many hands extended to him. She foresaw the worst. Edmund was killing himself over this.

'Dear Lord, my God,' she prayed in her head. 'Please watch over my Edmund. He walks a dark path, one I fear will kill him. I know he's not a praying man like his father, but he needs your help more than me. You've blessed me with the greatest son in the Inner Sphere. I love him with all my heart, but if he goes, I'm probably not far behind. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.'