A/N: I own nothing.

A/N: I didn't plan on writing this oneshot, but it just came to me one night as I was falling asleep. The title came to me first, and well, my muse just couldn't ignore it. Don't worry, I'm still working on my other stories, too! I think my muse just needed to get the angst out of her system before continuing on with Under the Same Moon.

A/N: Thanks to Pandorama and Melissa for the beta job.

As I lay dying, I watched the snowflakes slowly fluttering in front of my face, softly pirouetting to the ground, gently melting on my face. I licked my lips and tasted water, which slid roughly down my parched throat. It was going dark, and I no longer knew how long I had been outside in this weather, in this condition. I had lost count hours ago, somewhere between the math problems and the diagnostic symptoms and the waiting for someone to find me, and the pain, how could I have forgotten that pain. It had been sharp and searing at first, tearing across my back as it sent waves of blood flowing down my spine and waves of adrenaline coursing through my body and waves of endorphins from my brain in a meager attempt to dull the pain of the knife blade.

As I lay waiting, I called for help. I called until my throat burned in agony and was so dry I could barely speak and my voice was so hoarse it could barely be heard, but even then I didn't stop calling. When I could no longer use my voice, I used my brain, as though somehow I could reach out telepathically and relay my location to someone. I even tried to tell the animals darting past me that I needed help, but I don't think any of the rabbits or squirrels had heard me; at any rate, it didn't seem like they were paying as much attention to me as they were to their nuts (the squirrels) or running away in fear (the rabbits). I wondered if I should be grateful I hadn't seen a fox. Then I decided it didn't matter. None of it did.

As I lay crying, I chastised myself for letting tears run down my face when it was already so cold and they would surely freeze to my cheeks, but my castigation only made me cry harder. I let the tears flow, unable to muster the strength to stop. I had lost hope hours ago, sometime between the eleventh multiplication table and the mental run-down of all the diagnostic cases I'd taken since I'd joined the team. I hadn't let the tears fall at first, for I was sure someone would find me, but apparently I'd been hidden better than I'd thought, for time passed, and no one came. And then more time passed, and still no one had come. And I felt the pain in my back dulling, but I knew it wasn't because I'd stopped bleeding, for I could see the blood steadily staining the white snow red, fanning out from under me in sickening red rivers. And I knew then, that unless someone found me soon, and even then, for I was a doctor, too, and knew the chance of me making it out of this alive was thinning by the minute, that I was dying.

*

As she lay dying, he was walking to his handicapped hospital parking space, carefully avoiding the ice that had accumulated on the sidewalk throughout the day. He could see the sun had long since disappeared, for this was winter in New Jersey, and the sun sank beneath the horizon around five at this time of year, and now that it was seven, the sun had already stained the sky with its blood-red streaks. He pulled open the car door and was about get inside when he saw the strange pattern on the snow-covered ground. It looked as though children had played in the freshly fallen snow right outside the hospital door, but he could see there were a few problems with this theory. The footprints were too large to belong to a child, and what were large children doing playing outside a hospital anyway? Not to mention the footprints were not contained to just one area, but, now that he looked, they seemed to extend all around the front of the hospital – and then disappear into the nearby woods. He frowned. He hadn't played childhood games for a long time, and even when he had been a child, he certainly hadn't played games that involved fighting in the snow, but he knew there was little chance of the children deviating from their play outside the hospital door to playing in the woods. He hesitated, and then shut the car door again, determined to find out what this was about.

As she lay bleeding, he slowly began to follow the erratic trail of footprints into the woods. His own prints and the indent of a cane made impressions in the snow as he progressed further into the trees. He had lost the light now from the hospital parking lot, and had resorted to the penlight that he had in his pocket. He cursed himself for not thinking to grab a flashlight from the car before embarking on this journey. This was beginning to seem like a pointless endeavor. He had made up his mind to turn back when the faint light from the pen-tip caught the impression his cane had made in the snow. And he froze. The print had been made in blood.

*

As I lay praying, I stopped myself to ask what the hell I was doing. Prayer was a joke; I hadn't prayed in years, not since I was old enough to know better. Atheists don't pray.

As I lay hoping, I realized I was hoping for a miracle, one I was liable to never find. I would have laughed at the thought, the futility of it all, but I was no longer able to move, frozen to my spot on the ground. I could move my eyes, but there was nothing to see, as darkness had long since fallen and no lights illuminated anything in the trees. I imagined the rabbits and the squirrels darting around in the night, desperate to find their homes as soon as possible so they wouldn't be left alone. The darkness terrified them. I'd long since learned not to be afraid of the darkness, but now I was afraid, too. There were too many sounds around me, and I lay defenseless, wounded and helpless, unable to fend off even the meekest attacker. There was someone approaching me, but I couldn't make out who it was from here. I think whoever it was walked with a limp because I could hear the uneven footsteps, but I think I might have just imagined it.

As I lay listening, I became worried my assailant had returned for more. He could have, after all, cut himself with his own knife, to clumsy to realize what he was doing in the darkness, and that would explain why this time he was approaching me with a limp. I wondered if I would be able to fight him off if he was impaired, and I hoped that would be the case. I wouldn't be able to stop him from stabbing me again. I knew that much, but not much more…

*

As she lay whimpering, he knew he was getting closer by the way the erratic breathing increased in pitch. He stumbled on through the darkness, unsure exactly why he was doing this, but unable to turn back now without seeing what he had come so far to find. He thought there was something familiar about those panicked breaths, although he would never admit to himself that he'd often imagined her breathing that frantically in a much different situation, one that involved him and her and a bed and no clothes. And this....shit.

As she lay struggling, he knelt awkwardly beside her, ignoring the fact he'd just soaked his pants in blood. He cursed the dark sky and put the pen between his teeth, trying to shine the light onto her blood-soaked body so he could inspect the extent of her injuries. Even without shining the light directly on her face, he could tell from her hair whose body he was kneeling over. The light shone brilliantly, but the pen's tip was too small to give him a proper assessment. Swearing, he removed the pen from his mouth and threw it to the ground and began using only his hands and knowledge of anatomy instead. He clenched his teeth and gently slid his hands under her back to feel the stab wounds along her spine. He knew it was bad. And he knew she knew it was bad. There was no chance of him getting her to the hospital in time; there was no chance of her being moved at all. She was dying.

*

As I lay dying, I felt him next to me before I could see him. I couldn't actually see him at all, it was so dark. He had a light but then he threw the light to the ground and I could no longer make out his face, though his hands were gentle. He must have been a doctor, for he knew what he was doing. I thought I knew who it was, but I guess I couldn't be sure because next he started kissing me, and I know he wouldn't have done that. I tried to kiss him back, but I couldn't move my lips so I suppose they were frozen because by now I must have been out in the cold for hours or something like that. And then he touched my breasts and I knew it wasn't him because he never saw me in that way. But then he was kissing me again, and I still couldn't kiss back, and wondered why the hell he'd bother to kiss me again anyway. And when his hands touched my breasts again, I finally realized what was happening, that this was dying, and the last thing I ever felt would be his hands on me, and that actually didn't seem like such a bad way to go.

*

As she lay dying, she stopped breathing and he began mouth-to-mouth. He knew his efforts were futile and that even if he somehow managed to keep air in her lungs long enough for her body to stay alive, he was never going to get her the surgery she needed in time for her to have any chance of recovery. In between breaths, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, but gave an anguished cry in frustration when he realized it was dead. He wondered if she had her phone on her, but even if she did, he doubted he could find it in all the blood. He pressed two fingers to her neck and swore loudly when he realized her heart was no longer beating. Determined to bring her back, but unsure to what end, he began chest compressions. Thirty compressions, two breaths, check for breathing…thirty compressions, two breaths, check for breathing…he refused to give up…thirty compressions, two breaths, check for breathing…

(As I lay dying, I think at some point, I just… )

A/N: Please review; I would love to hear what you thought!