Benvolio felt a muscle in his back pull. One leg had already begun cramping when he lifted Mercutio over his arm. He felt sweat run down his cheeks and nose and drip from his chin and gather on his lip. Behind them, a commotion was gathering in the square.
Benvolio wondered whether Prince Escalus would banish his own kinsman, and whether he might be able to plead Mercutio's case. But there would be nothing to plead for: Mercutio had bated Tybalt into a fight. The fault was entirely his.
The windows of the house in front of them were thrown wide open.
"Is anyone at home?" Benvolio shouted.
A young woman wearing a kerchief on her hair opened the door. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of them.
"How friendly she looks, Benvolio!" Mercutio slurred.
"This is the prince's own nephew," Benvolio said. "He needs a surgeon."
The woman's face snapped to attention at the word prince. "Wilt thou let us inside?"
"Yes, of course," the woman said, and she went to Mercutio's other side, wrapping an arm around his waist.
"You're very pretty," Mercutio said.
"Don't mind him," Benvolio told her.
"Dost thou not think she's very pretty?" Mercutio turned his head towards Benvolio.
"Yes. Very," Benvolio snapped.
Together they lifted the wounded man over the three steps and into the house.
"Can you hold him?" the woman said. "I'll make up my bed."
Her bed was thin and the sheets were dirty, but she laid a clean blanket on top of them, and Mercutio sighed in relief as he lay down.
"Mmmm… comfortable." Mercutio grunted, and the hand with which he covered the wound in his side quaked. Benvolio clamped his own hands on top. "A glass of wine, and I'd be at home in the palace," Mercutio said, his eyes fluttered closed.
"Stay awake!" Benvolio shouted. "Stay with me!"
Mercutio smiled a lazy smile. His eyes closed halfway.
The woman with the kerchief returned with a length of clean linen, which she handed to Benvolio. She picked up a box with needle and thread.
"I have called for a surgeon. Benvolio, dear, tell her that's not necessary."
"I'm a seamstress," she said almost apologetically. "I can help."
"Please," Benvolio said and met her eyes with what he hoped was a beseeching gaze. Mercutio was right. She was very pretty.
The young woman knelt down beside Mercutio and began to lift up his shirt.
"We hardly know each other," Mercutio laughed. "But if you insist…"
"Thou fool!" Benvolio snapped and grabbed Mercutio by the shoulders.
"Thou wilt die if thou dost not accept this woman's aid!"
"I will die no matter what," he said.
"Not now," Benvolio said.
Mercutio shut his eyes. "Be quiet and kiss me, Benvolio."
Benvolio brought his lips to Mercutio's and gave him the least peaceful kiss he could give. Mercutio kissed him back with equal fervor, almost as if he were not about to turn over and die. When they parted, Benvolio was gasping for breath. Mercutio seemed completely at ease. "Fuck them all," he said. "Romeo and Tybalt and Balthazar and Sampson and Gregory. Fuck everyone except thee."
Benvolio pushed Mercutio's hair from his eyes, leaving behind streaks of blood.
Mercutio gasped as the woman's needle pierced his skin. "Be gentle with me, I've been stabbed." He turned his gaze back to Benvolio. "Thou art very pretty, too." He closed his eyes. Benvolio watched him peacefully until he felt a hand grasping his arm. He turned to look at the young woman. She had put down her needle and thread.
Benvolio found himself gasping for breath, but he cold not stop his sobs.
From outside the house, he heard shouting. He pulled himself up from the floor, staggered to the front door, and cried out, "O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!"