Peace, tranquillity; it was theirs now. Calm stillness, a slight breeze ruffling their hair as they just… stare at each other. This wasn't something either of them had suspected, prepared for, or even entertained as a sleep-deprived thought; they weren't religious, nor did they believe in an afterlife, but here they were… maybe…
Nine marvels in it when the shock dulls. He not tired, or frail, or nauseous. He doesn't feel it, at least. He doesn't feel anything expect a little confused, but generally at peace; he's also glad to see Twelve again.
Twelve's shocked also. He never felt the pain of the bullet, dead before the adrenalin could drain, but his shirt is clean and not even torn. He pressed a hand to the approximate area the bullet passed through, adding pressure, and realises that the pain still hasn't come.
It was… nice.
They could say it was surreal, unbelievable; but nice was what came to mind.
They came back to reality – loosely speaking, of course – moments later; sprinting towards each other with tears in their eyes and the other's sobbed name on their lips. They wrap their arms around each other like they did when they were younger, before Nine's physical strength weakened and Twelve's mind was almost lost to bombs and fire.
Yes, they'd kissed and hugged in their time as "Sphinx", but never like this.
"I'm sorry," Is all Nine can say, repeat and repeat; as if he'd known, could have known, could have taken the bullet himself. He was dying, after all, and Twelve would have had longer than he did. Twelve and Lisa could get through it, support each other, and be happy; a little idealistic, but it was what Twelve had always deserved.
"Oh God," Is all Twelve can whimper, over and over again. Two words meaning so many things; 'you're here, why are you here?', 'I thought you'd live longer', 'I love you'. He's glad to see his life-long love, but he wanted Nine to live a life that didn't involve puzzles, insomnia, depression, working until his hands were bloody over fuses and circuitry.
Their lips meet and it's like the idiotic sentiments that passed through Nine's head when his sleep deprivation hit its peak. How Nine plus Twelve does not, in fact, equal twenty-one, but happiness; and, in the same vein, how Twelve plus Nine equals stability and contentment through mania and depressive episodes alike.
Twelve doesn't taste the bile in Nine's throat, like he had for too long, but instead picks up on the bubble-gum toothpaste that he himself insisted on, as no one really likes mint. It's nice; he forgot what it was like. Being in love with someone as sick as Nine was… Well, sometimes you unconsciously choose to forget things like that, for your own sanity.
Not that Twelve had too much sanity to begin with.
Still, now they'll be fine. Right?
Nothing can hurt them here, or so it seems; they're ok now. No more bombs, lies, coding; maybe the nightmares are gone too, and their brain chemistry put back to rights. Maybe Nine will get to sleep, and he can feel normal; maybe Nine could stand to eat that sandwich, and he could forget about razors, scars and blood; maybe they can be teenage boys in love, acting like they were never fucked up or damaged in the ways that they were.
They break apart, gasping for air, and they both go to wipe each other's tears at the same time; prompting a short chuckle from both their lips. They were always so in-sync, probably from all the time they spent together, but it does make Twelve regret the time – so, so close to the day they died – that he was pretty shit towards Nine; running away with Lisa and spouting some bullshit about how she saved him. He didn't really believe it, and he's sorry for that, but Nine had done so many things to save him, and he couldn't name a single thing that Lisa had done herself…
She couldn't even take him to the hospital when he passed out. The thought may be unfair, in view of the circumstances, but he really couldn't think of anything. He didn't blame her, though; she was just a little too damaged, really.
He could relate to that, and as could Nine.
Or maybe he was just being unfair for unfair's sake, as he knew they wouldn't see each other for a long time. He had Nine, who did she have?
"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Twelve whispers, burying his head in the nape of Twelve's neck.
"You're here now," Nine answers, pressing a kiss into his hair, "I love you."
"I love you too," He responds, with something that could either be a laugh or another sob, "We're ok now."
"We're ok."
A/N: Twelve bushing his teeth with bubblegum toothpaste (and Nine having to because there's no point buying two different kinds) is an idea that makes me happy, ok? Twelve's quirky enough to carry it off, I think.
Please review, as I really gain confidence in my writing from them, and thank you for reading.