The bridge was a pivotal piece in their chess game. It was the only still standing in this part of the Republic making it vital for supplies. The fact that it towered over a rushing current made it useful in other ways too. Whoever controlled the bridge had a much stronger chance of winning the war.
The battle raged around them as it always had. They were almost too deep in the carnage to even notice each other at first, even in the close quarters of the bridge. But there was always that bit of awareness that came with being around each other.
"Bass," Miles panted.
There was a time when that voice panting his name would have made Bass tingle. But the blood and dirt that caked every inch of Miles reminded the President what was at stake here. "Miles," he greeted.
There was a long moment when neither moved. If they could have avoided this moment, they would have. But there was too much riding on this battle for either of them to hesitate.
They came together on the height in a clash of steel. Their swords sang as they attacked each other with everything they had. The fierceness of the warriors around them couldn't hold a candle to the savagery of their blood feud. They had been too closely ties for too long to throw anything less than their entire selves into this battle.
Their intricate dance would have drawn on lookers if they had been anywhere but the middle of a war. Even as it was, the battle paused a few times as these two single combatants moved with a precision that was intense to watch. They moved like old partners through bodies, debris and bullets. It was an ageless dance that they had perfected in their years together.
And then, Miles looked away for just a moment, believing he heard Charlie yell for him. As he turned back, he felt something shove it's way through his skin. Miles glanced down to see Bass' hunting knife plunged to the hilt in his stomach. "Bass?"
Monroe looked at Miles and then down at his hand as though he also couldn't believe what he had just done. "Miles?" he whispered. Bass looked at his hand again and jerked it away from the knife.
"Bass, you…" Miles couldn't finish. He wavered on his feet.
Bass caught him as he fell to his knees. "No, Miles. No, I didn't. Miles, please be okay."
Miles chuckled but the noise was cut off by blood. "Don't think I pull back from this one." He gave a grim smile. "You won this game, Bastian."
Bass felt tears in his eyes. No one had called him Bastian since his parents died. "I don't want to win," he whispered. "not like this."
"Too late. Take care of Charlie and Danny for me."
"You can't leave me."
"Not surviving this one. Like I said, look after my family. Charlie will be pissed that I'm leaving."
"Miles," Bass sobbed, "I love you."
"Love you too, Bastian."
Bass pressed his lips to the other man's. He felt Miles kiss him back for just enough time to give him hope. Then Miles sagged in his arms. Bass didn't even bother checking for a pulse. Miles Matheson was no more.
Bass struggled to his feet, still holding the body in his arms. "I meant it those years ago," he whispered, dragging Miles along with him. "You die, I die with you." He looked at the battle for a moment before throwing himself off the side of the bridge.
Nora was the first to spot them. "Look, bodies!" she yelled.
Charlie's head whipped to the bridge where Miles had been leading the fighting. She recognized that silhouette. "MILES!" she screamed.
Jeremy heard the name and rushed to the edge. He knew Monroe was too far for him to grab but he reached anyway. "SEBASTIAN!" It was too late. Bass slammed into the rocks, his spine shattering on impact.
The bodies washed up on shore fifteen miles away two days later. They were still embracing.