"Does it hurt?" The question slips out before he can stop it, but above him, she smiles.

"Dying?" Tina asks, the spectral outline of her hand dark even against his own. "No. It's easier and faster than falling asleep."

Newt takes a breath that rattles in his lungs, inhaling the rancid miasma of sweat and shit clinging to him. "That's good, I think," he slurs, forcing himself to focus on the stars in her eyes. They shine like actual stars, celestial bodies that live fast and die young, lighting her from within (and oh, there's a metaphor for her if ever there was one.)

"Yes," she says, and leans over to kiss his forehead, the brush of her mouth as light as the wing of a butterfly. Her smile strengthens as his grip weakens.

He closes his eyes when she lingers, embracing the sudden shock of cold that swirls around them. "I love you," he says and clings to it as tingling numbness seeps into his limbs.

Tina's smile grows brighter, her form more solid when he manages to open his eyes. A sensation like flying fills his chest as his heart rate slows, slows. "I know you do," she breathes, and her voice is like an echo of memories past; like a dream.

Her inner glow expands to fill the tiny field tent with clean light, glinting off the brass fixtures of his case (he'd propped it open yesterday, he thinks, or maybe the day before, when he'd consciously realized that recovery was no longer an option) and causing everything to shine from within.

She leans over him at the end, and Newt focuses on the dark spill of her hair, the luminosity of her skin as she closes the gap. "I love you, too," Tina whispers against his lips, and swallows his last breath as the light fades…