Free Fall

Hey guys, so I just felt like writing a quick SnowBaz fic, in which Simon finally, well, kicks the bucket, to put it quite bluntly. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

~Black Cat Widow~

The final match to light what remained of the wick, gone. Nothing but the waxy stub of a candle left to lead Simon Snow's life to its closure.

A flame that shone as bright as his did was never meant to last forever.

The room was cold and dark. Baz rocked forwards slightly on the chair by the bed, one hand still gently cradling Simon's. He looked down at them almost blindly, hardly able to comprehend what he was seeing. There was his hand – the same hand for how many years, as smooth and pale as it had ever been. And then there was Simon's – withered and liver-spotted, no longer the young, clumsy and carefree boy that Baz had fallen in love with seventy years ago.

But then, he still was that boy, Baz thought as he peered at the elderly man's sleeping face. It was funny how he had never noticed the changes in his husband's face, as though their love had somehow given Simon his own sort of eternal youth.

Simon's face was all different – yet all the same at the same time. And there – untouched by the changing seasons and years – were those same bloody moles.

Baz choked on a painful laugh, and then gently slid Simon's hand free of his to press his palms into his eye sockets, as if that could stifle the hot tears that he felt trying to leak out.

It was so selfish of him to wish that he could have Simon Snow, the Chosen One, for himself forever. He had offered Simon immortality countless times, but that boy truly was wise beyond his years, even if he hadn't realised it. Every time, he had refused the offer, preferring instead to live a short, fruitful life, rather than one that spanned for all of eternity – and a tired life that would be. Baz knew that Simon pitied him, and it always broke his heart to know that Simon would be given the opportunity to move onto the next world, a better place, when he would never exit the old one. But whenever the thought had crossed his mind, of truly being alone in the world, he had dismissed it for something that was miles away, as if life were a road trip, and Simon's stop was on the other side of the world. It might have taken seventy years to get there, but they were there now, and Baz didn't know what to do.

The door creaked open, and Baz lifted his head tiredly. It was Agatha, who they had found again after all on one of their many travels years ago. She, too, had been unable to escape the clutches of time, and had long ago lost the beauty of her youth, but remained a faithful friend.

"Don't torture yourself like this, Baz," she said softly, sweeping her thinned, white hair over a shoulder and holding her frail arms to her body. "Don't lock yourself away in the darkness, when there are so many friends who still wish to say their own goodbyes."

It was true. Baz had been wrong about being alone in the world – for the time being. He and Simon had found many, but Baz knew now that soon enough, each one of them would fade away into their world's history, and Baz would never again be able to bring himself to create any linkage to another living soul, if it meant this, over and over again.

"Fine." Baz's voice was unintentionally harsh with grief, and Agatha dipped her head into a slow nod once, as if she understood perfectly, before leaving. Baz added, even if there was no one there to listen, "But be quiet. He… he's sleeping."

"I cannot sleep my final hours away," said a weak voice from behind him. "I am awake now."

"Snow." Baz fought to keep his voice even in the conscious presence of Simon, and turned to face the dying man. "Simon. Wellbelove is bringing the others in, to say goodbye. If you want them to."

"I will see them," Simon said quietly, the pale blue-grey eyes hooded as they watched the doorway expectantly, and then eventually, one by one, each person crept in, spoke, and left. No more than distant shadows.

"Look at you two," said Simon. "Hovering over my deathbed like guardian angels."

Baz and Agatha, the final, truest ones remaining.

"I never imagined it ending this way, Simon," Agatha whispered. "I always unconsciously hoped that it would be me first."

"Don't." Baz almost choked on the word. Simon sighed softly, no more than a butterfly's murmur.

"I'm tired," he said, his eyes fluttering closed, then open again. "I've never been so tired in my entire life."

"That's your eternal sleep, Simon," Agatha said softly, and Baz could hear her swallowing on tears unsuccessfully as they slid down her face. "It's your eternal sleep, knocking on your door."

"This is really goodbye," Baz said. He wiped the tears from his eyes. "You were always so damn alive, Simon, and I don't understand how this day crept up on me like it did."

"Don't think of it as goodbye." Simon's eyes were shuttered now, and he stretched out his hands, one for Agatha and one for Baz. "Think of it as a greeting. As me… as me getting to go and meet with the others again, after so long."

"Run to Penny first, Simon," Agatha said thickly. "And don't you dare go to anybody else before her."

"I won't." he said, and a half smile crept across his face. "It's funny, I almost feel excited to leave, to see her."

"I expected nothing less," said Agatha, and kissed the back of his hand. "I'll see you soon."

"But not too soon." The smile vanished from Simon's face. "Don't leave Baz alone just yet, Agatha."

"I'm fine," Baz said roughly.

"No, you're not," Simon said, and met Baz's eye directly. "Just promise me something. Promise me that once we're all gone, you won't hurt yourself over it. Promise me that you won't forget love, because what is life without love? And life is too good an opportunity to waste."

"It's just…" his voice cracked. "I don't know how to do it."

"You'll know," Simon said, and there was a glint of knowing in his eye, a glint that Baz had not seen for a very long time. "You always do."

His eyes suddenly zoned out over Baz's shoulder, as though he saw something that nobody else did. Baz gripped his fingers slightly tighter.

"Ah." The dying man's body went limp – Baz could feel it in his fingers, see it in the set of his shoulders. "I hear it. Penny. I hear her knocking."

Penny.

Agatha hiccupped softly.

Maybe Simon was losing his grip on reality now. Maybe Penny really was somewhere, knocking on Simon's door. Baz would never know, not anymore. He fingers bit into Simon's.

"I'm flying free fall right now, Penny," Simon whispered. His voice was almost too soft to hear, as though he was speaking not to a corporeal body, but a spirit in the room. "And so are you. So are we all. Maybe one day, together, we'll reach its end."

"I love you," Baz said softly, and then repeated it louder, as though frightened that his voice wouldn't be heard over the noise of wherever Simon was now. "I love you, Simon Snow. I always have, I always will, and even if I never get to see you again, even if you forget me in this place that you're going, I'll never forget you."

"We all love you, Simon," Agatha offered quietly.

And so the two oldest remaining pieces of Simon's youth stood guard as the soul of Penelope Bunce returned to fly, hand in hand, out the shuttered window with the soul of Simon Snow.

Baz slammed to his knees, his body wracking with sobs. Agatha crouched by him, massaging his shoulders with her hands.

"He's happy," she repeated, over and over. "He's happy, where he's gone."

"But I'm not," was Baz's response, again, again. The words of a child. "What do I do now? What do I do?"

"First grieve," Agatha said, "and then, when this is all over, choose a new pathway. Find new hope, find new life, find new love. That is, after all, what Simon wanted for you."

"I can't just forget him," Baz said, averting his eyes from the resting shell of Simon. He couldn't bare to look any longer.

"And he didn't ask you to," was the reply. "Just remember – this body was merely a previous home for Simon. While we must respect it, it isn't really him anymore. He's free now. He'll no longer be tired. Be glad for that."

"I can't," was all that Baz managed to let free from his tongue, his whole world now turned upside down and inside out, completely and utterly changed.

"I know," Agatha breathed. "But we'll learn to, together." Baz saw her turn her head quickly to gaze out the window, inhaling a sharp breath of air suddenly.

"What?" he asked, turning to look with her, but saw nothing but the night sky, a twinkling patchwork of faraway and lonely stars.

"I just thought…" when Baz cast a glance over her, he could see every bright orb reflected in her wide eyes. "I just thought that I saw– never mind. I don't want to be seen as a nutcase in my old age."

"Tell me," Baz argued, and she wandered absently over to stand by the window, pressing her hands against the glass, her breath fogging up the plate. Baz remained on his knees by Simon, his forehead pressed against the corner of the mattress, and chose instead to merely listen to the old woman's voice.

"It was the strangest thing," she said, and her voice was as assuaging as the lullaby that Baz's mother would sing him when he was a child – a lullaby that all his fears would flee before. "I know that it's most impossible, but I could have sworn that I saw a young Simon, back when his hair was still yellow and his skin was still gold."

Baz's breath hitched in his chest, and in that moment he felt – for just the smallest moment – a warm breeze wash over him, from head to toe, as though somewhere far, far away, the soul of Simon was dispersing his old love for Baz over the world, relinquishing all grip on all of his ardours and hates from a life that had happened so long ago, and Baz was feeling the remnants of it spiralling down to earth, for the last time.

He almost smiled when Agatha finished.

"I think I saw him – flying past this window to soar over the moon."