To go down fighting
Ryan hadn't made a tape. This was – in hindsight – galactically stupid. Just one of those rudimentary 'in the event of my death' ones would have been sufficient. Yes, he had appealed to Nikita on an emotional level. And, yes, she had said that she believed him, but, come on, that had really been more of an I-believe-that-you-believe-this indulgence than anything else. He could have set out his reasons and evidence in a calm and rational manner. Alas, at the time he had felt that making a tape would have been silly. Because who on earth would want to kill him? Dammit.
He should have seen other things coming too. Jones not liking people who dig, for one. A syringe to the neck. You should always expect a syringe to the neck. The reason he didn't was that somewhere in the back of his mind he had wanted to be wrong.
Amanda was dead and Jones was locked up. The Shop was out of commission. It was over. The others could stop looking over their shoulders. They could relax. He could go on ferreting out conspiracies. He lived for that. Well, time to live. Or, in this case, die.
It was such a downer to have Slocum betray them. It was such a surprise when he woke up; tied down in a room which contained Amanda. Not that a room could contain Amanda. Her special brand of crazy spilleth over.
Good thing that he'd learned something from hanging out with spies. Good thing that Amanda loved to hear herself talk. Her plan didn't even make sense. Why did she want all these horrible things? Ryan doubted that Amanda knew.
Good thing also that he'd gotten shot before. Thanks, Alex. The pain was something else, though. He hadn't reckoned with it. To be precise, he had anticipated pain but nothing of this magnitude. The brain is not good at estimating pain. Maybe not even, especially, when your body is already hurting. There are limits to your imagination. Ghost projects, body doubles, mind control: all things Ryan's brain could understand. This hellish pain? Not so much. Not really.
Yet, it was beyond wonderful. Slamming Amanda face first into that tray with torture instruments had been heavenly. Taking out the first guy to the door had been great. He had ducked and weaved, shot, killed and struggled.
And, then, finally, the window. No more secrets. In the end, what did it matter that he hadn't made a tape? His jump from the window. His landing on the car. It was all so wonderfully public. No covering that up. Nikita wouldn't rest until she found out who was behind his death.
If he had to be honest – and why not? he was dying – the look on Amanda's bloodied face had been the best. Her whole ridiculous plan falling apart because of little old him. He had foiled her. He had saved the day. That felt good. Pain and all.
As deaths go, this one was far better than the last one. Almost awesome. To go down fighting felt exactly right for the guy who'd always remained an analyst at heart.
The end.