The resounding crack of a gunshot synced almost beautifully with her falling figure, tearing through the gentle quiet of the empty side street. He let go of her hand to reach in his jacket. His weapon was drawn and at the ready before he'd even realized what was happening.
"Get behind me, kid, I don't need you gettin'-"
The dull thud of her body meeting its shrinking shadow stopped him cold. His body began to tremble, his voice shook.
"Sw-" he swallowed hard. "Sweetheart?"
He closed his eyes and dropped his arms to his sides at the silent response. She would have answered him. She could act like a pain in the ass kid, but at a time like this she'd say something. She'd grab at his sleeve and start spoutin' off about what they should do. His girl wouldn't keep quiet; wouldn't keep him worried.
He looked down beside him, her crumpled form blurry with the tears welling in his eyes. With a sharp exhale he fell to his knees beside her. For a long moment, he took it all in: her skirt laid mid-way up her thighs (I should fix that-she won't like it.); blood seeped from the shot in the middle of her chest (that'll never come out of her sweater, I'll buy her a new one.); the color was slowly starting to leave her cheeks (don't worry, Baby Girl, I'll warm you right up.); her beautiful hair he loved running his fingers through was spread messily beneath her (you know I love brushing your hair out, I'll take care of it as soon as we get home.); then he settled on her eyes that looked up at the late afternoon sky, unseeing. Her eyes. They were always bright, shining with excitement and... now they were dull, glazing over.
He reached out slowly, brushing her cooling cheek with his fingers.
"Sweetheart?" he whispered.
Her stillness nearly stopped his heart.
He gathered her in his arms, holding her close to him as his tears began to fall. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She was just a kid. No. She was a woman. She was younger than him, but she was a woman. His woman. To love. To care for. To protect. He clung to her lifeless form as his chest heaved violently, his tears falling upon her.
"Mamoru!"
"Kishi!"
"Oh, shit, is that..."
"We're too late."
Voices were closing in on them, but he wasn't ready. With one hand, he tried to smooth her hair back. Her head lolled back, her clouded eyes unfocused. He tried to smile for her, even as his tears trickled down to her cheeks. He closed his eyes to take a deep breath.
He wasn't ready.
He could feel the people around them. Their shadows loomed over them, darkening her already dim eyes. He leaned a little closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then rested his forehead against hers.
"Please, Doll," he pleaded weakly.
Someone cupped a hand on his shoulder.
He wasn't ready.
"Don't leave me, Sweetheart."
