I don't know where I got the inspiration for this from; I was just thinking about how Myrnin might be the one sacrificed in Daylighters, and then this happened; I don't own anything.

Dedicated to Minza.

{This is set in a fictitious Daylighters, and just following a battle between some of the vampires and the Daylighters}

By the time they all meet up once again, it's quite clear that they're under strength; even with the older vampires, they don't have the power to overthrow the entire regime that has overtaken Morganville in a matter of weeks. It's the Glass House group and the few vampires they managed to save from captivity—inclusive of their queen.

But it's clear that they're weak, and some of them are closer to death than others; no matter how they try and hide it, it's true. They're weak from being cooped up and then having to fight their way out past guns and other weapons the Daylighters deployed against them.

"Get him into the upstairs room," Amelie hisses as she points to him, her oldest friend, the only person she's able to trust—the person who's dying right in front of her eyes. "And whatever you do, do not let Claire see him like that." She's never been entirely sure of the relationship between the alchemist and his assistant, but one thing she knows is that if—when—one of them dies, or appears to, it tears the other one apart…and they don't have time for that. Mourning can wait until they're certain they'll have the opportunity to mourn in the future.

Those with her comply with her orders and Amelie takes a moment to realise that this house and those within it…they're all that she commands now. The rest of her army are locked away under the Daylighters' control and her town, well, it hasn't been her town in years.

Amelie watches as Myrnin's taken upstairs and hopes that those who know what they're doing—or know to listen to him—and can save him. She doesn't want to live the rest of her existence even more lonely than she already has been; it would be worth nothing to her.

There's some sort of commotion in the hallway, but Claire doesn't have the energy to go and investigate. She's spent; the last forty hours have been super-intense with absolutely no rest whatsoever, and she's used all her brain power working out how their friends could escape the confines of the Daylighter compound, not to mention actually creating the chemical compounds required to stage such a breakout.

However, as the scuffle decreases in volume, Claire realises that someone's been taken to the secret room, a room which shouldn't need to be used; the house is in darkness, and in their planning they arranged the use of that room to be for the bodies of those that fall. One vampire Claire doesn't know, a bodyguard of Amelie's, is already in there, the sole vampire who escaped the Daylighters' round-up and worked with them to free those captured; he's one of the only vampires whose death Claire has mourned.

Sick to the core about who the fatality is—Shane and Eve were both quite badly injured when they were diverting the Daylighters earlier in the day, maybe they perished—Claire slips out of her room and quietly makes her way up the secret stairs, foot hitting wood just before the door slips shut once again.

When she reaches the top, she realises that perhaps this wasn't the best idea; the room's filled with injured vampires, and she's a walking meal ticket. However, she ignores all threats to her life when she sees who's lying down.

Myrnin.

He makes eye contact with her and shakes his head, suddenly becoming agitated. "No! She wasn't supposed to be here!"

Jesse looks at her with some intrigue, as if making connections between events that she hadn't made before, but she shrugs ever so slightly. "We didn't invite her; she came of her own accord. Maybe she can help heal you; heavens only knows none of us know what you need doing."

Laid on the side of the sofa is a first aid kit, one Myrnin shouldn't need; blood should be his only healer, and there's already an IV line feeding into his skin. That worries Claire; if he's too weak to drink, he's too weak for any more stress.

"It's alright, Myrnin, you can relax—I'll help you," Claire whispers quietly, not entirely sure what she's saying; all she knows is that she wants him to get better, and that she'll do anything in her power to stop him dying. "But I'll need some space from the rest of you all: leave or get away from me," she directs towards the rest of those in the room, and they leave without any questions asked. Her welfare is nothing in comparison with their own; whether she lives or dies isn't a priority any longer. The only one of them to linger is Jesse, but after a look from Myrnin, she leaves; there's not a word spoken in goodbye.

When they're alone, Myrnin speaks. "Whatever they shot me with means that I can't heal myself," he states matter-of-factly, as though he's discussing the weather. "You'll have to try and stop the bleeding and do whatever else you think is appropriate to stop it affecting me."

Claire almost laughs. "You don't have a clue about bandages and antiseptics or anything like that, do you?" she replies, already starting to apply heavy pressure against his side. Surprisingly, he feels almost…warm. Whether she's imagining this or whether he actually is getting warmer in death, Claire doesn't know, but she does know that she needs to concentrate whilst applying her ministrations.

He doesn't speak whilst she covers him in solutions and bandages, save for the odd grunt of pain, and Claire decides that she should keep it from him that he's slowly dying; unless what he was shot with can be reversed he'll bleed out as a human. He's a vampire dying a human's death, and that's perhaps the most normal thing about the situation; Myrnin, the vampire who regrets everything, will get to leave the world how he really ought to have left it all those years ago.

"Would you be so kind as to ask Frederick—the one waiting down by the door—to aid me moving downstairs," Myrnin asks her, his voice indicating nothing of the pain he must be feeling. "Don't try and keep me locked away up here like some invalid, Claire, it won't work; you know I will get down there somehow."

Only the reminder of the lengths Myrnin will go to in order to secure what he wants has her complying with his wishes, and the look on Amelie's face when she sees him makes Claire wish that she had ignored him and let him found his own way down.

Amelie's voice is calm and soft—softer than Claire has heard it since Sam. "You should allow your body the chance to recover itself, Myrnin; you don't need the stress of battle."

His only response is to give her a look, a look Claire recognises well; he's saying that he can cope and that he doesn't need her concern. He can do it, and more than that, he needs to do this, needs to be part of the solution to get them all out of this building alive.

"Right, so we're surrounded on two fronts, both front and back," Michael says, suddenly appearing in front of Claire. She doesn't react to his sudden movement—she's used to vampire speed, especially now—but his words invoke a sudden panic within her. They're almost trapped here, almost at the Daylighters' mercy.

"So this leaves us with…the walls into the other houses, the cellar and the roof, am I correct?" Amelie states, her eyes betraying the fact that she's coming up with a plan. Not that she needs to, of course; Myrnin already has one.

He begins to stagger towards the front door, but with Amelie beginning to divulge her idea—that the humans escape over the roof, if they feel so inclined, whilst the others make their way into the next door house—nobody but Claire notices.

"What are you doing?" she hisses as he reaches the front door. He leans against it, using the frame as support, and Claire realises she already knows what he's going to do; she's somehow known it since he asked to come downstairs.

"You're doomed to death in here because of me, Claire," he replies, melodramatic to the end: they were coming here regardless of his injuries. "If I can provide a distraction of some sort to let you escape out of the back door…well, at least you will all have a chance. At least Amelie will have the chance to rebuild her life in another place, with Oliver and other loyal subjects by her side. At least you will have the chance to achieve your full potential, little bird."

Already, Claire can feel the tears forming in her eyes, snaking down her cheeks, dripping onto her already damp clothes. "No, you can't!" She's adamant that he won't do this, even though she knows that once his mind is made up, Myrnin's intentions can never be changed. "I need you to teach me, Myrnin, and I didn't waste all those bandages just for you to sacrifice yourself!"

He presses a finger against her lips, suddenly leaning against her to see if anyone has heard her—whether Amelie is coming to thwart his plan. It's then that Claire realises that, unlike usual, Amelie isn't aware of Myrnin's plans; this hasn't been hashed out between them. All the Founder wants to do is to save her longest friend, to get him out no matter the cost to herself; she isn't aware of the fact he's planning to sacrifice himself to save them all, even those who hate him.

"I'm sorry that it has to be this way, little Claire," he says gently, his face hovering mere centimetres from her own, his finger still on her lips. "If things had been different, if we were different people…well, I think we could have been happy together."

"We still can manage it…somehow!" she tries to retort around his finger, but Myrnin shakes his head sadly, a bitter half smile forming on his own lips.

"No, dear, sweet, beautiful Claire, we cannot. And anyway, I'm too old to do this anymore, to carry on fighting a battle we can never win. I've lived far too long, destroyed far too many lives in my quest for knowledge. You know that killing was never my intention—it was what I became. The good in me became stronger when I turned, as did the bad, and ever since it has been a balancing act between the two, an act I often lost. I hope this sacrifice can make up for all the wrong I have done. I hope that you can make it out and continue my work somewhere else, yes, though perhaps without the use of a brain."

That he can make quips—albeit rather inappropriate humour—now, when he's saying his final goodbyes, is what makes the tears turn into cascading waterfalls from her eyes; she can barely see him, though she tries to blink them away so that she can remember his face forever. Belatedly, she realises she has very few photos of him, and even very few records of what they've done together; he's just been there for her for these past years, and it's too soon for him to be leaving her.

"Don't go," she whispers again, begging now and not caring if it means that he'll stay and live. If he can stay with her, he might even revert back to humanity enough to avoid being killed as a vampire! It's always possible…and perhaps…perhaps he'll do it. Perhaps, if she can keep him here long enough he'll do it.

"Goodbye, Claire Danvers, it truly has been a pleasure," Myrnin murmurs, lifting his finger from her lips and replacing it with his, their lips connecting for the briefest of moments before he's tearing himself from her, forcing her back towards the main group. He's shouting now, though not loud enough for those outside to hear, "get to the back door. Get there now and do not stop."

Then he wrenches the door open, turns back one last time to make eye contact with both Claire and Amelie, the latter seeming stunned at the turn of events, before he slams the door shut.

They can hear him mocking those outside in the way that only Myrnin can manage, even as they make their way down through the gardens of Lot Street. All Daylighters on this side of the house seem to have been drafted to the front to try and take down Myrnin—and Claire's glad that he commands such a large number to subdue him. Even injured, Myrnin's worth more than almost any of them.

It's only when they're on their way towards the road leading out of Morganville that they hear the sound they've been almost waiting to hear: the sound of Myrnin's scream, the sound that Claire heard over and over and over again when he was ill: the sound of pure and utter agony, of confusion and despair.

The ensuing silence doesn't feel like it ever has before, and Claire doesn't think that it'll ever feel different again.

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