Tomorrow's funeral is yesterday's suicide (, today, we'll burn).

"Wait, waiting for a sign,

crying to the sky
For love to come around so hope won't let me down
Shadows carry on,

the light is all but gone
Your promise calls to me,

a love so rescue me

There is a hope beyond this night
There is a Savior in the sky
Giving His life to set this world on fire

Here, before the flames begin,

may passion burn within
Our anthem as we wait,

for love to save the day."

Trading Yesterday – World on Fire

Careful footsteps in quiet contemplation, soft and lingering, calm echoes through the white and green hallway. The scent that hung loosely in the air, was one of roses mixed with sterile products. There was an underlaying sense of death, secretly creeping around the corner. The light that came through the clean, large, open windows was soft and gentle, caressing his skin as he passed the many rooms and headed down a road that he had to walk too often. One that he remembered by heart and would never forget.

He halted in the middle of the hallway, watching the colourful reflection of the sun dance on his tanned skin. He clenched and unclenched his fist off minded, not sure why, watching the green and blue colours of the sun swim over his arm. He sighed. A few mere feet away and he would have reached his destination. But before he entered a world in which nothing seemed right and nothing was fair, everything turned upside down, he had to prepare himself. Walking into that same room every day was like trying to attempt suicide day after day.

Thunder struck the moment someone stepped out of that very room and met his eyes. In the distance, a threatening drum roll was to be heard, dangerous and roaring from deep inside. Someone was poking him with little needles everywhere, whispering in his ear that he should run for his dear life but at the same time, chained him down to the soulless earth.

Another person exited and almost bumped into the large figure blocking the doorway. He looked a lot like a beast, ready to jump, a lion, a monster, a bear, on killer mode the moment his brain processed the – for him – unthinkable.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Bobby's voice was low and filled with pure anger, disgust and bottled hatred. Bosco, the person that stood behind him, laid his hand on Bobby's arm and gently pushed him away.

"Bobby, c'mon, let's just go. C'mon."

"No. I want to know what that son of a bitch is doing here. If it was up to him she would be dead now!"

He made a move forward, one single step, shattering what was left of Carlos Nieto as he did. Bosco jumped before him, now two protective hands on Bobby's chest. This lion, this monster, this bear, was ready to move and bite off his head. Fire lit in his eyes, which were big and wide and round and deep within, there was a slight trace of hurt.

"Bobby, let's go."

"No. I want him out of here."

"He's got as much right to be here as anybody else."

"Not him. He wanted her dead. He shouldn't have the right to be here. I want him outta here!"

"Bobby, stop causing a scene or it will be you who won't be able to come here anymore.

Faith and Kim appeared from behind the green striped corner, both looking at Carlos with the same detestation. Kim crawled underneath Bobby's mendacious fence of self-defense and took him with him. As Faith walked past a lingering Boscorelli, Carlos got to worry about his situation. He could deal with Bobby. A few simple pushes on the 'history' buttons would calm him down, or at least just kick his ass. Bosco, however, Bosco would kill him. In a heartbeat. Bosco scorn is the end of his life.

"I just-"

The officer cut him off by shaking his head once and he looked down. Carlos did the same, again looking at the waterlike ripples on his skin. He heard Bosco sigh and he looked up again. Bosco's eyes were very much a whole other world that Bobby's. Carlos could feel the pain, taste the sorrow and touch the hurt. He was cut wide open, bleeding and aching and he could do nothing. Carlos understood that feeling all too well. Bosco nodded, shortly, firmly and almost formally and then he turned to follow the rest of the group.

There was a meaning, a deep, throat cutting meaning behind the nod and the disappearance of the curtains before Bosco's eyes. One that Carlos did not understand yet. For minutes he stood still in the hallway, pondering and thinking what it could be. Perhaps it was forgiveness. Perhaps it was a way of signing for peace. Perhaps it was a mutual knowledge of what they were going through, all three of them. Or, perhaps, it was something else.

"Are you okay mister Nieto?"

A sweet and sympathetic voice entered his ears and brain and Carlos looked in the direction it came from. Nurse Lily stood beside him, before her chest a chart and her one hand held a blue pen. She smiled kindly. Carlos only nodded and flashed a thankful smile and he took the last steps of condemnation.

The walk to this room was always hard and heavy. Every time, the air would close in around him, making it hard to breathe, wondering if he could do it this time. Wondering how long his tired, sore body would endure this torment. Wondering how long his mind would allow him to come day in, day out. And then, he stepped into the room and everything changed.

The sunlight was soft and kind to his eyes, lighting up the room almost ethereal. The air was lighter, it was easier to breathe, this was where he wanted to be. And there she was, laying calmly and peacefully in bed, something that looked like a smile on her face, tired but nonetheless sparkling eyes as they looked at him. He smiled back at her and sat down next to the wheelchair she sat in.

It was pulling at his feet, nagging at his brain, kicking his heart, stabbing his soul, this hypocritical, two-faced situation. On the one part, you had this beautiful room with an amazing view, nature just all around. You had her, laying in a clean bed, looking rather beautiful and no signs of discomfort or distress. Then you had the other part, that part that he knew because he could see it behind her fake smiles and plastic eyes. The pain. The hurt. The anger and the unfairness. The dry tears and unheard sobs. She was the most beautiful, most proud, most imperfect flawless, independent women he had ever known and here she was, laying in bed or sitting in her chair, unable to move, unable to speak, requiring special need and care twenty-four seven.

Her body was covered in scars. Scars from where her brother cut her up with a kitchen knife. Scars from her time on the force. Scars from the surgeries she had underwent in order to stay alive. Surgeries that he knew, she didn't want. There was the almost famous bundle of scars on the left side of her face. Four eye-catching, sore the eyes lines. The first started near her hairline and stopped halfway past her cheek. The second began just above her eyebrow and was artistically carved around her left eye like a backwards 'C', ending at the same height of her nosewing. Then the third, starting at the corner of her left eye, pulled back in a jagged, shrewd line to her left ear. The last, beginning between her temple and her ear, the knife drawn around her cheek, crossing under her nose, over her upper lip, to the left corner of her mouth and then back towards her jaw to end up halfway her neck.

But those were only the most horrendous ones. She had another scar, in her neck, where a part of the debris falling down from the World Twin Tower hit her. The nine bullet round scars scattered over her body like confetti during a party, four on her chest, one on her shoulder, two on her lower abdomen and two on both upper legs. The small, white, thin scar across her knee from when she jumped down into a dumpster. She missed a toe because someone cut it off when she was taken hostage. A fine, shapeless set of scars on her head, hidden by her once shining and thick brown hair. On her right arm, a rugged horizon scar from where she ran past a nail. A burn mark on her left hand where she scorched herself one time during a barbeque. And then, of course, the many clean cut lines made by professional hands that wanted to save her life. Which they did, but at what cost?

"Hey you."

Jazz smiled, weakly but greetingly. Carlos caressed her forehead and stroke through her hair. He looked at her for a while before he pressed a kiss on her head and whispered in her ear.

"Happy birthday."

She rolled her eyes and Carlos snorted.

"I know, it's screwed up."

Her head bobbed carefully up and down, one of the few movements she was still able to do.

Carlos sighed as he looked at the flowers in the dark pink vase. White roses, white lilies, some orchids. Then he looked down, at the clothes she was wearing. He met her eyes shortly before he smiled and shook his head. He choked back the tears that welled up in his eyes and he blinked as he looked away. The dress she wore was the dress she wore when he took her out for dinner for the first time, something he would do many more times later on. It was kind of their thing, their time together. He would take her out, they would talk, laugh, scream, dance and drink. The next morning, their heads hurt of the consumed alcohol, their sides ached because of the laughing and their feet were sore of the dancing.

He felt something breeze past his bare arm and he immediately turned his head back to Jazz. She still had some control over a couple of fingers on her right hand, index finger mostly. Carlos once joked that it must be because she used that finger so often, pulling the trigger on duty or off duty at the range. She smiled at his joke and he spent the next few days finding a way to smuggle her gun in the nursing house without getting caught.

His blinked to control the tears and smiled. Jazz' eyes were filled with compassion and regret. Carlos gently caressed her cheek and shook his head.

"It's okay. You look beautiful."

Jazz stared at him with that look in his eyes that he knew well.

"Yeah, you do, you look beautiful. Don't argue with me. I guess you guessed the surprise."

She looked questioningly and he saw her brown knit together slightly.

"I'm taking you out. We're going to the park, catch some sun, it's a beautiful day. And then we're going to get something to eat, have a drink. How does that sound?"

Her closed eyes and small smile across her lips told him enough. Carlos grabbed her hand and squeezed it, causing Jazz to open her eyes again. He asked for confirmation through their looks and she nodded almost invincible. Their fingers intertwined and they sat still like that for a couple of minutes. Even before the attack, Carlos and Jazz always had a special relationship. They could talk without words, knew which buttons to press and sparks flew around when they were together. They were in love, but not romantically or sexually. They were just two of those rare people that had been blessed to find someone that they truly, deeply loved and could show it.

Jazz had, in the beginning, a lot of problems with their relationship. She found it hard for people to see that she actually cared for someone that much. Besides the fact that she didn't really knew how to act or what to do because of her youth, but also because she had built secure, sky high walls around her to protect herself and hence earned the tough-ass but respected status. She was afraid that once people, anybody, noticed that she could be a soft, kind, loving person, she would no longer be respected and everything she fought for would vanish like a drop of water on hot asphalt.

But Carlos was stubborn. He loved her, loved hanging out with her, loved making her laugh or hearing her stories. It took him some time before he finally crawled underneath Jazz' barb wired fences and was allowed inside. And it hadn't always been perfect harmony. There were vehement fights, adamant words, days or weeks of cold ignorance. It always ended with one or the other desperately wanting to tell something and they would meet again, make up and laugh about it later.

After a few minutes, Carlos recollected himself and stood up. He grabbed her bag from the closet and started to put the required things in it. Her coat, a warm vest (just in case), a box of tissues (also, just in case) and the Vaseline for her lips and dried scars on her face. While he gathered the things, he talked to Jazz. About his day, about Kylie, about the news, things he heard, gossips. Occasionally, he looked over in Jazz' direction and he saw her sitting there in with her eyes closed. Whenever he paused, thinking she was asleep, her beautiful, keen blue eyes opened and the corners of her mouth curved into an affectionate, deformed smile.

First thing they did after they passed the nurses' station where Carlos got her pills and they exited the large building, was finding a bench where Carlos could sit across from Jazz and lit a cigarette. He felt her eyes on him as he sat in the comfortable sunlight, an almost phantom breeze through his hair and inhaled.

"What?"

Jazz' eyes moved from his face to the half-empty box of cigarettes.

"I know. Don't get me started. It's your fault really."

She tried to grin, but without full use of her muscles, it looked more like a perverted threat of a lion uncovering its teeth. He snorted at her and bent forward, blowing the smoke into her mouth and face. Carlos could hear her inhale as deeply as he could and continued to repeat the process. While they smoked, he continued talking about Kylie. She was almost four and he was planning a big birthday party with her foster parents. Of course, Morgan was invited.

For a moment, Carlos stopped talking and closely observed the woman in front of him, whom was looking through the park. Black bags under her eyes had gotten worse and spread out until it covered what looked like her entire eye sockets. He could see by the way the dress fell across her body that she had lost more weight. But her eyes, her eyes were the most painful to watch. They had gotten darker, more tired, hidden even more, hiding from nightmares she couldn't run from anymore and hiding from the present day that kicked her in the face every time she woke and realised it wasn't a bad dream and she still couldn't move.

As he saw her light, cracked lips, disorganized cuts across those once dark pink, almost red lips from the biting she did, a flashback of the night he found her hit him. He quickly looked away, sighing as he does. That night often flashed before his eyes, at night, at day, during pleasant dreams and jumping in nightmares. Several people told him to go and see a therapist, but he didn't know how he could describe to someone how it felt when he found his bestest friend laying on a cold and hard floor, barely alive and how he had been breathing for her for twenty minutes, keeping her alive, fighting for her.

Only those that experienced it themselves might understand how it felt to press your lips onto someone else's and be greeted by the most forceful coldness that chills still run up and down your spine now and again. How it is to blow air into someone's mouth, constantly praying that it is enough, good enough, hoping that finally, after this blow, that person would finally wake up and achieve that what you strove for. How another human being is hanging onto dear life and you are the only thing that's keeping him or her alive. It's hard enough to experience this, but it's even worse when you don't achieve, when you perhaps did not blow hard enough, fought hard enough, pushed hard enough, for that person did not wake up. She, in this case, continued tho lay still, motionless, white as a ghost, half her face destroyed, cold as ice, lifeless.

People couldn't believe. How could they? Those that knew her, knew she was one of the most energetic, vigorous persons they ever met. Jazz was always full of live, full of emotions even though it was mostly anger and she was usually driven by adrenaline. But those that really knew her, Bosco, Bobby, Sully, they knew how she was. Therefore, it was impossible to picture her before their eyes as a near dead person.

Sometimes, late at night, his own cries and screams would wake him up. His pleads to God for letting her live, his sobs whenever he failed to revive her again, the echoes of his tears falling onto her porcelain skin. Geoffery Hallow did not destroy the life of Jazz only, he also ruined what was left of Carlos' joy and spirit, breaking him down to the ground and leaving him hurt, unseen and unheard, the taste of her blood still in his mouth and her colourless, spiritless body still before his eyes.

Carlos, however, never uttered a word about how much this single event had cut into his soul and snug under his skin like a leech.

Then he heard it, a soft, careful moan. He looked at Morgan and saw her intensely watching him. She had lifted her index finger as far as she could, her hand almost opened up and reaching out to him. In an impulse, Carlos grabbed her hand and leant forward to pull her into a tight, meaningful hug. When he let her loose, he kissed her head several times and he felt her cold skin rub past his cheek, dry, tickling lips against his skin, as if kissing him back.

"C'mon, let's go get something to eat. You remember that pizza place we used to go?"

She nodded.

"Well, they're expecting us."

Hurt and thoughtfulness disappeared in her eyes and made way for that rare sparkle that only few people were still allowed to see. Carlos knew that behind that sparkle, there was a deep pit of pain, anger and nothingness, but for now, he liked to believe that she enjoyed going out with him.

The night could not be long enough. Carlos ordered their favourite pizza's, cutting up hers into tiny, small pieces and fed them to her. He continued talking to her, but didn't her a sound coming from her again during the night. He knew that she didn't like making sounds, it would only confront her with the fact that she couldn't talk anymore. So Carlos did the talking for her, causing her to smile over and over again, he himself laughing, moving his hands as he animatedly talked about everything he could think off.

The waitress recognized them, seemingly shocked to see what had happened to Jazz, a person she said she looked up to. She arranged a trip to the kitchen for them, allowing them to watch as they made their very own pizza's, able to choose whatever they wanted on it. The check was 'accidentally lost' and the manager came down to talk to them for a bit.

The clock kept ticking, slowly consuming their time, taking away the last precious minutes they had together. Once outside, they found another bench near the police station, hidden in the shadows and Jazz watched the police cars pass them by without them noticing her.

"Why do you do it?"

His voice was shaky and thin in the air. Jazz tore her eyes from the squad car that drove past them and locked her eyes with Carlos' face, whom was avoiding eye contact. She reached out with her finger again and touched his hand. Once she made contact with his skin, he looked at her lastly. The agonizing hurt was clearly visible in his eyes, the confusion, the restless nights and the sorrow audible in the air. She didn't understand.

He inhaled deeply and licked his lips, breaking away from her eyes for a minute. Then he looked back at her.

"Why do you still do this? Live like this? How do you keep up, hold on? Why? For who? Bobby? Bosco? Me? Because you don't have to, Jazz, you don't have to keep on living for us if you don't want to."

Secretive but in plain sight tears formed in her eyes as she never broke away from his gaze. Carlos' gorgeous brown eyes were open and honest, pleading.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to, if you can't. Please, don't stay here for us. You don't have to. You can let go now."

Tears slowly slid down her cheek and as Carlos bent forward to lean his head against her forehead, they mixed with his. As much as he loved her, he could see that this was not what she wanted, what she never wanted. It was the reason why he asked Bobby, when the time was there, to pull the plug. She had been comatose and clinging onto life for weeks, laying in bed as a doll dressed up in the dollhouse. Bobby was furious, his hands were like a blurry fury that collided with Carlos's tired body.

He had tried to keep Carlos away from her, limiting his visiting hours, even trying a restraining order. It all failed and even if it didn't, it would keep Carlos away from Jazz. He couldn't stay away from her if he wanted to. She was his friend, his beloved, best friend.

The walk back to the nurses' home was quiet but kind. He had laid his arm over her expensive, special wheelchair, his hand between her collarbone and her face as if she was afraid that he might move it. They looked at the bright stars that shimmered in the dark sky and watched the city that never slept, as its people. Perhaps it was going to be all right. He regretted the words he uttered to her, thinking that she might wonder if she was something he didn't want to bare. A burden. He made sure that, if she ever thought that, she wouldn't ever again.

Once back in her room, he laid her down on her bed and obeyed to her request to keep on her clothes. She wanted to keep them on for a while. That, and she didn't want Carlos to undress her, seeing all the damage that been done to her mutilated, prone and fragile body. He kissed her goodbye, like he always did. He stroke through her hair a couple of more times, as he always did. He kissed her lips, like always. Before he exited the room, he turned to wave, blow a kiss and say goodbye, as always.

"I'll be back tomorrow. I promise."

As he always did.

His cell phone's ringtone was screaming in his ear, waking him up from a gloomy nightmare. It took him some time before his eyes adjusted to the darkness to he found his phone. When he looked at the display, it took him some more time to process the caller i.d. Once he finally realised, he picked up as quickly as he could.

The voice on the other end was scared, fear hidden within the vibration of his feeble voice. Shivers ran down Carlos' spine as he heard it, his heart skipped a beat and he sat up straight in bed.

"Carlos."

Silence.

"It's Bobby. It's Jazz, she umh… You should get over here. It's not good."

In his hurry, he forgot his keys. He hadn't needed the light in order to find his clothes and he jumped into them, calculating how long it would take him to get there, his mind racing through the possibilities. Had she listened to his words and let go? Was she finally too weak to continue and threw the towel in the ring? Once outside, he forgot to get his car, he just started running. The wind blew past his face like a razorblade making small cuts in his face.

He couldn't get there fast enough. His legs were sore and his sides were throbbing, his breathing was fast and rapid and it hurt whenever he drew a breath. But he was there now, finally. The run to her room seemed endless and the halls stretched before his eyes, making it last even longer. At last, he stopped, his shoes squealing underneath him and he looked at dysphoric and downhearted faces.

Bosco had slightly distanced himself, sitting near the window, a couple of feet away from the bed. Bobby held her hand and stroked her hair as he looked up to see who entered. Swersky was there as well, his wife sitting on a chair across the bed. She looked distressed and uneasy. Her face was sweaty and grimaced. Her breathing was shallow and there were long pauses in-between. Carlos simply stood in the middle of the room, watching someone that was once one proud and fine woman. There was nothing left of her. Time, pain and the suffer of life had taken its toll on her.

Her closed eyes appeared to have sunk into her eye sockets. They were hollow and empty, her cheekbones stood out like a lighthouse on the rocks. All the colour was drained from her face, her hands nothing but bones and some flesh. This was it. He knew. This was it. End of story.

Goodbye.

Silently, he sat down next to her and held her other hand. He kissed her cheek and rested his head on her pillow. Then he whispered, softly, but they heard.

"It's okay, it's okay sweetheart. You can go. You can let go."

He couldn't even remember when she stopped breathing, when this long-lasting torment had finally come to an end. He remembered hearing Bobby's muffled cries and Bosco's hidden sniffs. At some point, after staring at her dead body long enough, he left the room and absently minded walked into the hallway. He collapsed against the wall and sunk to his knees when finally, a welcomed darkness overcame him. He let himself fall into it.

He wished he never had to wake up anymore, but he knew that, sometime soon, he had to.