"I hope neither of us ever have to be there," Sam said wryly. The truth was that there were plenty of people in the world-- especially in this world-- who had the abilities to fight. Most of them outclassed him, for that matter. But Veronica was the only person he'd ever met who had the power to heal him in a way that no superpower or magic could.
And he obviously didn't function very well in a world where he didn't have that. Everything started to feel too dark and too cold, too hopeless to be bearable. He pushed his limits for the sake of the others he cared about, but it only seemed to end with him giving and giving more and breaking under the pressure. How he managed to keep going, he had no-- well, he had some idea. It wasn't in him to give up, not really. He'd been pushed farther than he'd ever imagined, and somehow kept finding reserves of strength inside himself. But it was from anger and desperation and pain, not from the certainty of the light in his soul and the warmth in his heart.
It was easier to breathe when she returned to him, and his hands pressed into her skin, curled into her hair. He almost wanted to laugh when she spoke, but he didn't, because she was so serious. A smile appeared on his face nevertheless, even though he tried to temper it, and he rested his forehead against hers. "Cricket," he said. "I wish I could make you understand. That's the only thing I really need from you. You're the only one that can help me like that, and you're amazing at it."
He ran his thumb over her cheek, along her jaw. "I really just want to be me," he said, voice quiet, almost a whisper. "Whatever I am. I keep losing myself, but you... whenever you're around, even when you're not, if I know you're there, it's easier to keep my head. Even when this world tries to push me off track."