A word. That's all it took. Fet found it hilarious- after all the munchers and the bullets, the explosions and car chases- done in by an old man's dying wish. Confession. Whatever the hell that was. It's funny, and it hurts. Everything did these days.
A part of him says he should get underground, that the blast will cook him alive, and Fet tries not to think about how much it sounds like the Professor. If he does, then he can't help but think that he'd disappointed him, again. So far, the most he's managed is to leave the ancients, go down the stairs.
The Lumen was cold in his hands, on his fingertips as he ran them over the cover, memorizing it. He'd been tracing the patterns, the crescents, the emblems, for what felt like an age, since he'd staggered out the door and buckled onto the step. All the while, the Stoneheart power plant sat on the horizon, like a tumor. Bitter winds whipped leaves and bare branches Fet's way, at the occasional, silent tear that ran down his cheeks.
If he really listened, he could hear the klaxons. Nothing else.
There's a distant rumble of tires on asphalt, and even this far off, Fet could tell; it was mostly empty. The lone figure was too small to be Angel, too sharp to be Setrakian- Gus. The Hummer pulled up, and sure enough, it's a hoarse "Get in," and Fet, robotic, has no other option but to obey. They sit in silence- in all the time, neither mentions Setrakian, or the obvious tears on their faces, in their eyes, the loss in them. "Angel?" Fet asks finally, because he can't help himself, and damn, does it take everything Gus has to answer. "Stayed back," He mutters, as the Hummer jolts into movement again. Fet nods, and something clicks, and he looks to Gus, and knows instantly, gets back into gear, back into the fight. "Need to get underground," Fet instructs. "I know just the place," And Gus follows. He doesn't ask where they're going.
...
Fet doesn't try to ignore the blast as New York died above them.