Let the Skyfall, when it crumbles, we will stand tall and face it all together at Skyfall.
Except they wouldn't face it together, no, not anymore. Q was dead, Gabrielle too, even Cohen, and now, yes now, she was dead.
M was dead, gone. He would never see her face, hear another one of her comments, or see her sitting at her desk with that goddamn paperweight ever again.
She was dead.
He remembered the first time they had spoken about it, shortly after he had joined. They didn't check for that back then.
They sure as hell did now.
It had been a night quite like this actually, he had been up on the rooftops, howling and she had come up and he swore she hadn't even blinked when she said, "Your pitch is off. You sound like a coyote."
He had been sure she was going to get him canned, but then the next day, she called him into her office and they just sat there and talked about it for a good hour and a half until she excused him so she could take her next appointment.
After that, she often came up onto the roof with him. Sometimes she read a book, other times she simply stood there and listened, or laid down and looked up at the stars with him.
But not tonight, not any night ever again. M was dead, gone. Tonight, he would go up on the roof by himself, but he wouldn't howl for himself.
He would howl for her.
And dammit, his pitch would be perfect.
