Journey's End
I'm dying.
I'm so afraid.
It wasn't five minutes ago that I faced Vargas in single combat and he proved himself to be my superior in every way. I felt his blade punch through my stomach and out my back within two minutes of my challenging him. Looking back, I don't know why I did it. Respect for Hank? For Rogue? For glory? Did I do it out of bravery?
More like out of stupidity. Oh, I had noble intentions, but I should have known I was outmatched. Common sense should have told me to go, but my love for my friends won out over that.
I can feel the blood in my lungs. It's getting hard to breathe. Hank looks down at me, his face all battered and bruised.
He's weeping.
Oh, my friend, don't cry. This was bound to happen eventually. I escaped from Sabretooth through luck and luck alone. This time no magical elixir is going to save me. I'm going to die.
I'm going to die. The fear of the unknown floods my brain. I have fought all my life against one thing or another, but this is the one battle I know I can't win.
I try to raise my hand to touch Hank's face, but my hand won't respond. I try to say something, but all I can muster is a wheezing sound. I feel some blood drip off my lips and spill down my chin. Hank gently wipes it away with a fingertip and shifts to make me more comfortable.
I wouldn't bother with that, Hank. I can't feel most of my body anyway. Even the pain in my chest has crumbled to a dull ache, the weak beat of my heart now the only thing that I can focus on.
There is a sadness I can still feel, though. Not for me – I have no such conceit – but for those I'll leave behind. Brian. Meggan. Hank. Warren. Neal. All of them knew me. All of them will feel the pain of my death. I don't want that. I only wish I could make it better for them. Spare them the grief. But I won't be able to. I'm not that powerful.
I cough, spattering Hank with more bright arterial blood, and a lance of pain spears my body. It's oddly muted but it still hurts. The pain is welcome, almost. It tells me I'm still alive.
But not for long. Hank says something, but I can't hear what it is. His lips move, and his tears run over his bloodied fur, but I can't hear what it is he's trying to tell me. I try to let him know, but I can't do anything except look up at him and clutch at his arms with weak fingers. He hugs me to him and whispers gently in my ear. He tells me that everything's going to be all right, that we two are going to get out alive, that he'll find a way to fix me, that I'll be right as rain before the week is out. I know he's lying. I know he's just trying to comfort a dying woman. He holds me gently, cradling my broken body until I feel my heart…
stop…
beating.
Doug –