Hey all! I know, I'm sorry, I'll get onto What's Not to Love About Siblings soon, but I had this here plot bunny and I had to write it. what's Christmas without some blood and tears, right? ...yeah.
AN: I don't own CoD.
Christmas is supposed to be warm, and happy, and cheerful. Full of eggnog and ham and candy and presents and laughter and liquor and games and late nights. Composed of joy and giving and love and comfort and cheer.
So why is Natara spending Christmas Eve not at a party, where the only red is her ugly Christmas sweater, but crouched on the ground with her hand practically jammed inside Mal's sliced-open torso as his red blood continues to gush out? That's a good question, she supposes, and that might be answered by three words.
People. Are. Psycho.
Yeah, that about sums it up. How else would you explain the fact that there was a madman just running around, slitting the throats of men and women just having a fun time at parties? Especially at Christmas? But no. People are psycho.
Which brings us back to the moment, as Mal chokes and coughs on his own blood, as his skin turns an unnatural shade of white, as his hands clench and unclench around Natara's steady olive-shaded ones, and as tears fill up her eyes. The dark surroundings do not help the situation, the only light being a line streetlight to illuminate the struggling couple and the abandoned warehouses around them.
Mal's chest bounces up and down erratically, his breath coming in what might be considered half sobs, half breaths, almost, though it might be just his body attempting to make up for the lack of oxygen in his lungs. He winces as Natara shifts her hand, trying to staunch the flood of red liquid a little more. "Steady, deep breaths," she reminds Mal, hard pressed to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Just keep calm, okay?"
Mal gives a slight, tiny nod, just barely moving his head, and attempts to slow his breathing down. It's a wet, gushy sound, like water has invaded his windpipe somehow, though she knows it's not water.
"S'quiet," he manages to croak out, his thumb gently brushing her wrist.
"We're kind of out of reach of the carolers," she answers, her voice subdued. "But yes. It is quiet."
"S'creepy."
Natara laughs in spite of herself. Mal never fails to make her laugh. "Yes it is."
"Did we get 'im, Nat?" Mal's voice is nothing but a husky whisper, attempting to pierce through the layers of silence. Nat finds it strange that he doesn't remember, but blames it on the blood loss. Without looking about five feet to the left, she replies quietly,
"Yeah. We did. He's not going to hurt any more people. "
A ghost of a smile plays over Mal's face. "Thought so. You're a crack sh-shot, Nat." His voice hitches, causing Natara's heart to lurch. Mal never stammers.
"You're not so bad, yourself," she states, freeing one hand and gently placing it over his. Mal gives a loose chuckle and starts to shiver, though its about 80 degrees outside. His eyelids start to droop and Natara softly smacks his cheek a few times.
"Mal? Stay with me, don't close your eyes."
His eyes snap upward with a guilty expression, and he bites his lip. "S-sorry."
"The ambulance is on its way," she whispers, "it's almost here. Just stay awake." She grasps his hand and plants a kiss on it, leaving a faint red spot in the shape of lips. It's so close to the shade of the mottled blood on his skin that she almost can't tell it apart from the dark red liquid. Her stomach churns.
"Wanna... sing a carol for me?" She hears, and glances in astonishment at her boyfriend.
"What? You know I can't sing, Mal."
"Sure...you can." Mal pauses to turn his head to the side and let loose a string of coughs, sending blood spatters floating off into the air. "I hear you...all...the time." His breath is getting slow and laborious, and the air rattles in his chest.
"Yeah, but that's not..."she trails off, unable to withstand against the pitiful sight of the bloody, weak, dying- No, she reminds herself brusquely. Not dying- Mal. "All right," she sighs, seeing it as an opportunity to keep Mal lucid, "but no teasing me."
Mal gives a slight huff of air by way of chuckle, and grasps Nat's hand as a crippling pain wreaks its way across his abdomen. Natara runs her free thumb over it soothingly as she begins to sing softly.
"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,
Just like the ones I used to know.
Where the tree tops glisten,
And children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow," she sings as Mal slowly eases back, gritting his teeth as pain grips him.
"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write..." But before she could continue, Mal shakily reaches up and grasps the nape of her neck, pulling her forwad to deliver a long, passionate kiss on her lips. His own bloodstained lips taste of copper and dirt, and salt where Nat's tears land. He releases her and lets his hand fall limply to the ground, eyes fighting valiantly to stay upward but failing miserably.
"May your days be merry and bright," her voice cracks and stills as Mal's eyes close and he goes limp, his wheezing, choking breath stilling. Tears stream down her cheeks as she bows her head in grief, not caring that the ambulance sirens can be heard minutes away.
"And may all...your Christmases," she sings in a whisper, willing herself to finish out Mal's last lullaby, sobs interspersed throughout the lyrics. As she sings the last two words, she notices that some of the circular bloodstains on the ground look remarkably like holly. It is a chilling thought.
"Be white."
~finis
Yay deathfics. Please review, if only to yell at me.