I know, I shouldn't be starting a new fic, but I couldn't help myself, okay? I only own Andrea Mitchell, who is a product of my nephew's and my creativity. He helped me a lot with this fic, so kudos to you, man. I apologize for spelling and grammar mistakes, and I fair warn you that this fic will have a death in it, obviously, but it will. And I've already gotten a bit emotional planning this out and thinking about it.

Anywho, this prologue is short. Hey, it is a prologue, so I leave you now, for you to read and review.

Please read, review, and enjoy.

You're awesome,

Kiwi

Full Summary:

They were best friends, and he had been there for her through everything. The fact that she had six months left to live didn't change that. He would keep his promise and stay with her until the moment came where she had to say goodbye. And he would make sure that when that moment came she'd say goodbye, having had the time of her life.

Say Goodbye

Prologue

Thirty was far too young to die. Thirty was a third of a lifetime, there wasn't any reasonable explanation for someone to die that young. People died all the time though, age didn't seem to matter. He tried not to think about it, about what was next if this really was the end.

"It's not," he murmured, wringing his hands together as he stared at the clock on the wall. The stale, chemical smell infiltrated his nose and he remembered exactly why he hated hospitals so much. Yet, every time she had an appointment, he was there with her. This was exactly that; just another appointment and she would come skipping out of that room with a grin plastered to her face, overjoyed that she had at least another year or more left.

Another year, he scoffed as he shook his head. Even if she did have more time, she would still die young. Still, he sat with his hand folded together, trying to keep himself occupied until the blonde came out. As much as he told himself that she would be fine, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong; horribly wrong. About a month ago, the treatments stopped working, and that was simply the first domino. It started with resistance to treatment, and it would escalate into symptoms, pain, and eventually death.

Andrea Mitchell was going to die young, and he wouldn't be able to stop it. His eyes snapped shut, and he tried to stay positive. Deciding he couldn't stay still, he took to pacing and periodically stealing a glance at his watch. She had been in there for over half an hour. Something had to be wrong, and he regretted not taking her up on her offer to have him join her. He chalked it up to being afraid of what he'd hear. "She'll be fine," he muttered, the small reassurance doing nothing to calm his worries. He knew how sick Andrea was, how sick she had been for a long time, and her disease almost promised an early grave.

Nobody deserved to die from disease. Nobody really deserved to die. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he had been watching her die for the last few years. Hope that the treatments would work dwindled as her condition didn't improve, despite the fact that doctors assured him that improvement would take time. That time for improvement was up, and every time he told himself that she would be fine, reality shot him down.

He couldn't find anyone to blame, it was a series of misfortune, of little things that couldn't be helped or changed. It was unfortunate to have an HIV positive parent, it was unfortunate to contract the disease through the pregnancy and come into this world with the possibility of dying before really living, and it was unfortunate, but inevitable, for the virus to morph into this. The door opened, and his head snapped to face her.

And that's when he knew for sure.

She took in a shaky breath, dragged her hand through her hair and gave him a weak smile. Andrea took a few steps forward, letting her hand rest on his forearm. "I'm okay, Bryan."

"How long?" He asked, biting the inside of his lip, struggling to maintain his composure. She murmured, and he shook his head again, pulling her into his arms. The words were sinking in, the look in her eyes revealing what her words wouldn't.

"Six months."