Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. "WHY AREN'T YOU UPDATING WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE ABOUT SIBLINGS?! YOU HAVE COMMITMENT ISSUES! I SURE HOPE YOU NEVER HAVE A BOYFRIEND!"

I'm sorry. Really, I am. But it's those dang plot-beavers. Seriously. They nibble away at your brain. Sorry. ._.

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He's cold. God, he's so cold. His blood has literally turned to ice. He shivers, body unable to keep warm. But there's something warm and sticky pooling underneath his torso, and when his hand shakily dips in it and lifts it to his face, it's warm. And red.

Oh, god. Is that his blood?

Is he dying?

Natara rushes over to him and places her hand on the numb spot right in the middle of his chest. He moans, attempting to push her away. Can't she see it hurts like anything? He opens his mouth to tell her to stop, but all that comes out is a wet, gasping sound.

"Shh," she prompts, placing her finger on his lips as tears drip down her cheeks. "Save it. Breathe."

But it's so HARD. It seems to suck the energy out of him, draining him of the ability to keep his eyes open. They start to flutter closed, but they jerk open when she screams out "NO!"

Why is she crying? Oh, that's right. He's dying. But those tears look so out of place on her perfect face. Of course, she always looks amazing, even when her lips are chapped and her eyes are red and puffy and there's those dang tears trailing down her cheeks. They most definitely do not belong there. With a shaky, freezing hand, he slowly fights upwards and places his trembling thumb on her perfect cheekbone. He draws it slowly to the side, smearing blood and dirt and tears, but leaving it water-free.

She just manages to smile, but it quickly collapses, and she grabs his hand like a life-line, while keeping her other planted firmly on the gushing, burning bullet hole. "Please," she pleads, "please keep fighting." Fresh tears flow down her face, falling onto his hand and tracing grime streaks.

He tries to answer, he really does, but his throat WILL NOT WORK, and her warm hand feels so good on his and he's so, so cold. But focusing on the warm spot, he manages to muster a raspy, "N-Nat."

"Shh," she interrupts him, pressing a bit harder on his chest. God, that hurts.

"Nat," he continues rasping, "I...I..." Why can't he talk?! His chest is collapsing in on itself, folding downwards in a gesture he can't stop. It's suffocating his heart, squeezing the life out if him.

And the cold, the everlasting cold, continues creeping and spreading and growing in power, crushing him in its icy grip.

Gathering his remaining strength in one last heroic stand against the pain and the bitter cold, he breaths out, "I...love...you." With that said, he goes limp, unable to keep his eyes open much longer, as the cold takes its hold completely over him and starts to drag him away. He can feel its frigid fingers taking him, and he focuses on the dot of warmth on his hand to keep him there for just a minute longer, keep his eyelids up for just one more moment.

"Mal," Natara sobs, "Mal, I love you too, please stay with me, Mal, please!" She leans down, and the heat from her fingers is suddenly not only on his hand but on his numb, frozen lips, melting his skin and slowly, slowly thawing his body.

But as much as he really, REALLY wants to stay, the cold is a rabid beast, unwilling to let go of its prey. He can feel himself slipping, and with his last ounce of strength he cups his hand around her cheek and pulls her towards himself one last time, presses his polar lips against hers, and wishes, wishes wishes wishes he had done this a long, long time ago.

He can feel himself going. And even though he fights, holds onto the warmth, he's slipping away.

So even as he goes, finally succumbs to the cold, he focuses on the warm spot still attached firmly to his hand.

And it chases away the cold, if only for a moment.

-finis

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O.O

What...have...I...done...?

I've...I've...good lord.

I'm not even sure what this means. Wrote it on a spur-of-the-moment thing on the way to ballet, but...wow.

I'm a horrible, terrible human being.

Anyways, please review, if only to throw broken chairs and wardrobes.