I don't own any of the characters, if I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfics
Please keep in mind that English isn't my mothertongue
Tony's point of view
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His time by Angel-agent
There was nothing I could do, that time had past, and I had done nothing with it back then. He died in the operation room. He flatlined, and I heard the beep. We all realized what was happening, but there was nothing we could do. Nurses rushed in, pushed us aside. Then a doctor came out and asked to speak to the family first. We had to tell him he had no family, well technically he had, but they hadn't spoken in a long time. The doctor looked surprised, but restored quick. He told us they had done everything they could, but that he was damaged beyond repair. He told us he was sorry. His pager went of, and he was gone again. Never said goodbye. We all looked at each other, but said nothing. It was our little tribute to him. He never spoke much, but he meant what he said. He had a beautiful voice though; intense, raw, full of emotion. Pain mostly. We all knew he had seen and done things no man should have to. But he did and he always came back and went on with his life. Each time he was more withdrawn. He could sit in a chair and let an entire day pass that way. We all knew he was hurting inside. But we did nothing. Why didn't we do anything? There must have been something we could have done for him? Before it was too late, before today.
He took more dangerous missions, every time he came back from one alive, the next one would be even more dangerous. Suicide missions we called them. We all knew he had not intention to come back again, but still he did. I guess it just wasn't his time yet. Today it was. For us it was clear it had been his time to die ever since his wife died. He lost his daughter that day too. She blamed him. He blamed himself. After three years he couldn't take it anymore. He left for an undercover mission in Mexico. He became a drugaddict. He wasn't thinking straight anymore. He hadn't for the past three years, but we didn't want to see it. We ignored it, we denied it. What if we hadn't? What if we had helped him then? Had been there for him when he needed us? Then maybe today he wouldn't have died. 'Cause he tried. He tried to get his life back in order again. But he couldn't deny what had happened in his life. He tried to change, but couldn't. That's why every relation he had had after Teri didn't work. He couldn't live with who he was anymore. The drugs helped him forget it for a while. But it always came back to him. Each time it devastated him more. Until he couldn't take it anymore. Until today. He had taken matters into his own hands. If it wasn't his time yet, he would make it his time. He called me to say he was sorry for everything, for his existence. I wanted to tell him he didn't have to be sorry, but couldn't. This would be the best for him. Mentally he had died three years ago, when he found his wife dead. His body just didn't want to acknowledge this. He had been so close once, when he flatlined as well, but he was pulled back again.
I heard him pull the trigger, and felt some sort of relief for him. He would rest now, be at peace with himself. I went to his apartment to make arrangements, but noticed he wasn't dead yet. It still wasn't his time. I did the only thing I could think of, the only right thing to do in public opinion. I called an ambulance, but I prayed he would die. I called his friends, but not his daughter. She hadn't been his daughter anymore since Teri had died. We all waited for him to come out of surgery, but inside we all knew it wouldn't matter. He would die soon. We were praying it would be now. To end his misery. Our prayers were heard. He died.