M looks frantically about her in search a rag, a scarf, a torn bit of clothing, isomething/i to stop Bond from bleeding out onto her and the snowy clearing around them. There's footsteps leading after the gunman and if she looks hard enough, she can just make out his retreating back between the trees. She calls for a medical team in short, clipped tones. His head rests in her lap as his gaping chest steadily pours out more and more crimson. It's a surprise he's even survived as long as he has, being shot at nearly point blank range.

He coughs harshly and more red froths forth. She removes her gloves and wipes his mouth clean. The med team had better be here soon. Sooner rather than later. iNow/i.

"The medics are coming, 007. You'll be good as new in no time. There's—there's a mission in Prague lined up for you when you're well."

It's only a half lie. There is a mission in Prague she had planned to send him on, but there is no coming back from this. Not this time.

"M," he whimpers.

The tears spilling from his eyes freeze into crystals around his icy blues. He convulses as pain wracks his body, and she fights to keep him still so as not to cause him even further pain.

"I'm here. I'm here, James. I'm not going to leave you."

"iHurts/i," he moans pitifully. "Please, please..."

He was heavy in her arms as his strength and blood flowed from him.

"Shhh, shhh," she murmurs, running her fingers gently through his hair. "It won't hurt for very much longer."

It causes her nearly physical pain to say that, but James had always valued her honesty. No need to put on airs now.

James weakly grasps her hand, and she gingerly grasps back. She thinks he would smile if he wasn't clenching his jaw so tightly. But soon even his jaw goes slack as his panting becomes harsher and harsher.

Her own tears form in her eyes as she is reminded of a song. She can't help but sing it. Something to soothe him.

"Here, somewhere in the heart of me, there's still a part of me that cares. And I'll—I'll still take the best you've got, even though I'm sure it's not"—she takes a deep, shuddering breath, never looking away from his eyes—"the best for me."

"When you're born a lover"—she chokes out a wet laugh—"you're born to suffer, like all soul sisters and soul brothers."

James coughs again, shaking and shaking, holding M's hand as tightly as he can manage.

"I—I can see the danger signs. They only help to underline your beauty."

She wipes more blood from his mouth, and he looks up at her expectantly. iKeep going/i, his eyes plead. They always did say more than he ever did.

"I'm not looking for an easy ride. True happiness cannot be tried...so easily."

He grunts and twitches again, but feebly. She never ceases her hand carding through his hair unless it's to clean his mouth. Her clothes are soaked red, and she can't even tell how cold her legs are. It begins snowing.

"iM/i."

"I know, I know, sweetheart."

Her lips trembles, and she goes to sing the rest of the song through a lump in her throat.

"You can take your time. I'll be waiting in line. You don't even have to give me the time of day."

She's careful not to let her tears fall on his face.

"When you're born a lover, you're born to suffer. Like all soul sisters and all soul brothers..."

He gasps loudly, and she knows it's the end.

"I'm here. I'm here. I won't leave you, James."

He looks up into her eyes one last time, eyes shining in pain and acceptance. She's sure she's wearing a similar look.

He opens his mouth as if to speak to her, and she leans her head down to hear him.

"Happy," he whispers.

The sound of the medical helicopter comes five minutes later. There's no one to save.

iShhh.../i