AN: My brain kept prodding me & absolutely would not let up until I wrote this. It just kept shoving these images into my mind. It was awful & horrid & I needed to write it to make them go away. However, I will say this feels like very honest writing from me. It really wreaked havoc w/ my emotions anyway.
Disclaimer: I only borrowed them. They were returned. They'll recover...I think. *nervous chuckle*
Empty Sound of Teardrops
By: SentientMist
She stares numbly down at the dark red blood oozing through her leather jacket, seeping through her fingers. Applying more pressure, she watches, oddly detached, as the sticky substance slides over her hand, dripping to the sidewalk below, leaving dark, oblong patterns in the shadows. She gasps when her legs buckle under her, pitching her forward. Somewhere in the distance she hears Will's voice, muffled by the blood rushing in her ears and the rapid tempo of her heartbeat, exceedingly loud in the silence.
Anticipating the feel of cool, solid concrete, Magnus is mildly surprised when warm arms catch her, easing to the ground with her. Suddenly, she's laying mostly flat, head cradled in Will's lap, as she looks dully up at his face, unable to bring it into focus as her vision blurs. She's been shot before, she knows what to expect; but this, this is different. Noise returns to her in an abrupt rush of indistinct sounds. "Will," she gasps.
"Just, lay still, Magnus. We'll get you out of here." He glances around restlessly, searching for backup she assumes, the van, someone to help him get her safely back to the Sanctuary. It's not coming. She still can't make out his features clearly, and a wave of anxiety overtakes her; she needs to see him. Blinking furiously, Magnus attempts to clear her vision. Tears nearly spill over when she finally succeeds, focusing on his face, eyes locking with his. She sees his relieved sigh, and she doesn't quite have the heart to tell him this time is different, this time she won't be going back to the Sanctuary.
Both of Will's hands cover hers where it still rests, just below her left breast, pressing down firmly. She feels a sharp ache, but remains silent, no reason to cause him further worry just yet. "You're going to be fine, okay? I'm sure you'll be back to ordering us around in no time." She smiles tiredly at his attempt to keep his tone light, despite his obvious panic.
"Not this time, Will," she whispers raggedly, slowly lifting her hand to gently caress his cheek. She's beginning to go numb, a bone chilling cold engulfing her; it won't be long now. Her hand falls limply back to her stomach.
"No. Magnus, don't go there. You're going to be fine." He's shaking his head, biting the words out, trying to convince himself as much as her. She admires his loyalty.
"It's too late, Will. I'll never survive the trip back to the Sanctuary." He opens his mouth, and she cuts him off. "No, Will." She has neither the energy nor the desire to fight him. Not now. This time needs to be special. She's glad he's with her. "Hold my hand," she pleads quietly. A few stray tears escape her tight emotional control, distorting her vision.
"I need to keep pressure on this." His voice is determined, trying to keep her with him by sheer force of Will.
"Which can be done sufficiently with one of your hands and one of mine," she sighs, eyes slipping shut.
Will nods, moving his hand, smearing blood, her blood, as he laces their fingers together. "I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to forgive you if you die on me," he mutters.
She chokes on a half chuckle. "This wasn't how I imagined this mission going." Opening her eyes again, she finds his gaze. "When you get back, go to my desk, the left side. All you have to do is sign. You'll take excellent charge of my work," she says quietly, eyes shining. "Take care of them," she adds softly.
"Magnus-" Not finding the appropriate words, he trails off. "Just relax for me, alright," he finishes gently.
Her vision dims, and Ashley's voice fills the space around her, "It's okay to let go now." She closes her eyes as an overwhelming sense of peace floods her.
"I'm so sorry, Will," she whispers, squeezing his hand weakly as her world fades.
He feels her grip slacken before giving way entirely. "No, no, no, no, no! Dammit, Magnus!" he shouts into the still, night air. Yanking off his glasses, Will hurls them into the murky blackness, hearing them shatter and skitter across the street. Tugging her limp form into a sitting position and pulling her closer against him, Will holds her tightly, burying his face in her hair. There's no one to hear the empty sound of his teardrops. The dark is his only witness.