Title: Lost Without You

Author: Lexie Jayne

Feedback: is beloved.

Pairing: Syl/Krit; Jondy/Zack, Max/Logan implied.

Word Count: 3 418

Rating: PG

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama.

Summary: Krit dies and Syl is on a downward spiral

Notes: As of November 18, the content of this fic has been altered to comply with TOS, and my own change of alias. If you would like to read the original version of this fic, please visit Written - Word . Org.

Inspired by Delta Goodrem's ' Lost Without You'.

Spoilers: Season 1

Warnings: Disturbing scenario.

Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to James Cameron, and I make no profit from this fan-based venture.

I thought I'd be the one to go first. I was the slowest and all. He was one of the best. And he was younger than me, which made it even more unfair. He had more life left to live that I do. Why did he leave me. . .

It was my fault. If I hadn't pushed him away, told him I didn't want to be with him, that our relationship disgusted him, he wouldn't have been off his guard. I should be there, lying in the pool of blood that just. . . won't stop. . . flowing . . .

"Krit? Can you hear me?" I feel my voice breaking. This is all my fault. If I hadn't told him our relationship was revolting, he wouldn't have stormed off, we wouldn't have been arguing in the middle of the street, and the asshole in the car wouldn't have gotten him.

"Krit, talk to me," I whisper, wanting to scream at him. He is so cold. "Don't do this to me, Krit."

I loved him more than anyone else on this planet. He was everything to me. I feel like I've lost a limb or my vision. It feels like I've been told I'm dying.

I am. I am dying. I can't live without Krit. If I believed in such things, he would be my soul mate .

There's a crowd behind me, gasping and I think someone has called 911. Why does it matter? Why? He'd dead, isn't he? He is. There's no breath now. His heart has stopped. Calling the paramedics gives me a false sense of hope. It hurts more if you are hopeful.

What was that quote again? Hopeless children are silent. What's the point of crying if there's no hope?

My jeans and top are drenched in his blood; they feel heavy. I lean down, resting my head on his chest. No tears. I can't cry. He's left me behind and I can't cry. Why did I let him go? We could be curled up in bed together now, if I wasn't so . . .The paramedics are here, my head resting against him, no tears. His blood is through my hair now. It's sticky and still warm. . .maybe he isn't gone, maybe he's still with me.

"The victim's girlfriend." Those words leave someone's mouth and I want to scream that I'm his ex, that's why he is dead.

Krit is dead. Gone. A paramedic pulls me away from Krit's body, and yet, I still reach for him, wishing his arms would wrap around my waist, that he'd pull my hair, that he'd say my name the way he did - half teasing. Even when he was shitty with me, he'd say my name like he was teasing me.

"Krit," I call out, desperate. The paramedics surround him, their equipment everywhere. Someone is holding me close, almost like a hug.

He's not going to die. Krit can't die. He'll be okay. The relief floods me and I almost laugh with relief. Maybe this is like the wedding prank Zane and Krit pulled years ago, just to watch my reaction. . .

The mystery person holds me tight, and I want to pull free, but I don't.

The paramedics stop and the bottom drops out of my heart. And the body bag comes out.

"Time of death, 11:47 p.m. 19th of August 2024."
"Breathe, Syl. You'll be okay." They are taking Krit away from me. I want to be dead too, just so I can talk to him, smell him, feel him. . .

He had the most incredible eyes.

"Syl." The person holding me says once more. And I jerk around.

"Zack."

He's back. But not even the return of my most beloved brother can fill what I've just lost. No one understands. It feels like the bottom has dropped from under my feet.

I realise Zack isn't just holding me, but clutching me desperately.

"I should've saved him. I could've saved him," Zack says shakily into my hair. "I saw you two, and the car. . . I should've made it. . . "

I hug him desperately. "I love him," I mumbled into Zack's leather jacket. I didn't think Zack would hear; or that he would take any notice, but his arms tighten around me and I feel colder than before. Over. It's over. I can't deal with this.

"Let me take you home, Syl."

"What am I going to do? Without him?"

I lie in the bed we used to share. Even before we loved each other. The white duvet with the hot chocolate stain in his corner and the biro marks all over it. The pillows - pale blue - with random tears from my earrings or whatnot. His pillow still smells like him - chocolate-y, with the smell of motorbikes and something undefinable.

"I'm calling Max, Syl."

I can't react to Zack's comment. I wrap myself in the duvet, panicking hysterically when the blood on my clothes begins to stain the duvet; to remove the blood, I'd have to have it dry cleaned and that would take Krit away from it.

It's Krit's blood. It adds to the duvet, not spoils it.

Sleep doesn't want to come, but there is a war in my head which I cannot begin to deal with. I force my eyes shut, and once they are shut, I cannot open them again.I am jarred awake by Zack calling Max. He has her on speaker phone, because Krit and I ruined the hand piece, in a water experiment. . .

She has the perfectly predictable reaction. He's her twin brother, so automatically, Max gets her own way; bury him in Seattle, near Foggle Towers, where Max has apparently taken up residence. She'll plan the funeral. She'll take on the role of the grieving sister.

Her pitiful sobs fill the room via the speaker and I feel a rush of fury. How dare she. She wasn't that close to him. They were close, but not especially close. How dare she pretend she knew and loved and would mourn Krit.

My hand fell on the first thing it reached for. A lamp. With all of my anger, I ripped it out of the wall, and hurled it across the room, where it smashed on the doorframe.

"Syl," Zack's voice was gentle. I ignored it, wrapping my arms around my legs and rocking back and forth. Every one of my sense felt like they were covered with cotton wool. Why can't I cry for him? My future died with him.

"Syl, calm down." Zack is standing in the doorway, Max still on the phone.

"Leave me alone."

"No."

"Leave me the hell alone Zack. Go find Jondy and … ugh." I rolled over, pulling the duvet over my head.

"We're going to Seattle tomorrow."

"Wow, there's something to look forward to," I snapped, knowing my voice was muffled by the duvet. Seattle. Max. Burying my lover. Yes, there's something to look forward to.

I swallow, and buried my face in Krit's pillow. Remember the way he called me 'kitten', the soft look in his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes when he looked at me and the way he kissed me. . .

It feels like I haven't slept ever in my life when Zack drags me from bed. I think he is glad that I'm still drowsy, because he shoves me in the direction of the shower and I obey. But what's the point? I wish. . . someone would just make this all stop. Its hurts so much. I feel like I'm a battery, that only has to last so long, now, and then I can be with Krit again.

"Hurry up, Syl, we need to leave!"

What's the point of hurrying? Every thought, step, breath. . . Every molecule of me aches with emptiness. Why can't I stay here, in bed, waiting for the pain to decay, rot away, leaving me an empty shell?

I pick up the razor resting on the edge of the basin and rest it on my wrists, gathering enough courage to drag it hard and fast down my wrist.

I can't. Even for the man I loved, I am a coward.

I drop the razor, looking down, bracing myself on the sink, as I hear Krit's voice, soft and loving, in my mind.

'It takes courage to live, kitten.'

It was one of those stupid statements Krit would say, completely spoiling all my logic and ideas. I was so gung-ho, he was rational and practical. He saved me from myself. Who is going to save me now?

Seattle. I hated the place. I'd been there once, and I hated. Technically, it was the place where Krit and I hooked up. After Max and Zack died. Just us. Together. Do you, it felt right, like we'd been in love for years, but never . . . it was the best feeling on this planet. Like, it didn't matter Manticore was still out there, we were together and we were free. That's what it felt like. And it wasn't all soppy and sickening, like stupid TV shows, where it's all kissing and sex, and then arguing. We were best friends as well, which made it a bit more complicated.

I can't live like this. Living isn't courageous, Krit. And it's not being a coward, it's knowing when to quit. Call the game and . . .

The funeral is at some exclusive cemetery in the fancy part of outer Seattle. Max must've gotten Logan to call in a favour or something. Why must we bury him? It seems. . . wrong. Cremate his body and. . .he'd be free.

We stand in Logan's penthouse for awhile. Jondy, Zane, Max, some guy named Alec, Logan, Max's friends, Zack and I.

Jondy's crying - no sounds, just streams of tears down her cheeks. Max is too. They'll get over it. The hopeless are always silent.

Why does that make me feel better?

"Maxie," Zane gazes at her, as comes into the room. I hate the way Max looks so much like Krit. I hate it.

She doesn't have his eyes. Not Krit's perfect, perfect eyes.

"How are you, Maxie?" Jondy manages. Concern for her, Maxie. Because she's his god-damned twin sister. I'm just another face. Another meaningless face, that wasn't unique in Krit's life.

I am suddenly aware that Zack is holding my hand. Keeping me here. Right here.

I don't remember much of this morning. I remember Zack brushing and untangling my hair for me. I'm wearing some black dress that I didn't know I owned. Or maybe I bought it when Ben died. I don't remember.

Ben died. Krit died. It's not the same thing. It's not. He can't be gone.

"I'm. . . I can't believe Krit's gone," Max manages, wrapping her arms around Zane.

Gone. Such a stupid, disrespectful way to die. Like he was normal or something. I think the only thing stopping me from breaking down completely is Zack. And the fact I am so, so cold. So very cold.

"Max, the funeral . . . We need to go," Logan says gently. Why are they all treating her like this? She didn't know Krit. At all. Ever.

"Come on Syl." Zack's voice is very gentle. I walk slowly out of the room. Everything feels so thick and heavy.

Zack and I go with Jondy and Zane. I stare outside. Why can't it rain? Seattle is never sunny. Why today?

The cemetery is all beautiful. Grass and tasteful plaques remembering lost people. Neat rose bushes lie every where.

Max decided against any sort of ceremony, because we don't believe in any religion. Just bury Krit's body in the cold hard ground and go back to Logan's for tea and crumpets. Damnit, why can't she really care?

If she cared, she wouldn't act like that. All pathetic and crying. Damnit, she didn't love him, really. She held a memory of him, from when he was a child, close to her heart, but she didn't love him.

The coffin was shut, next to this huge hole. I felt like I was sinking and falling. Jondy's tears became sobs so uncontrollable that she could hardly breathe. Zack broke away from my side, to comfort Jondy.

Gone. Over. Game over. Why couldn't it have been me that got shot? Why? Krit's stronger than I am, he could move on. I am so weak. I cannot do this by myself.

There is a man there, who talks to us, about how Krit will go on to some sort of heaven place. I'm not sure if he is a priest or what and I don't really care. I feel like I'm in some sort of bad movie, it's not happening to me.

As Krit's coffin is lowered into the ground, I want to scream and cry and die. I feel drained.

As the dirt was shovelled on top of the coffin, Max completely lost it. She collapsed on her knees, sobbing. Jondy was leaning into Zack the way Krit and I used to. He isn't comforting her like a sister.

"It's okay, Max," Zane says.

"He was my twin brother," Max manages, burying her face into Zane's jacket.

You lost your brother, Max. I lost my brother, my best friend, my lover, my life. I have nothing left. I thought maybe I'd have a future with that man, but I don't. I can't see anything ahead for me. Just. . .emptiness. There's nothing left for me.

"Zack, is Syl okay?"

"Shock, I think. It's all shock. It'll hit her soon."

This isn't shock. The shock was Krit being dead in the first place. This is what it's going to feel like for the rest of my life. It's never going to not hurt. And some people live to 104. . . I'm 22, I can't see myself making it to tomorrow morning, let alone 104 years old.

"Come on Syl." Zack's arms are around Jondy, as we got back to the cars. "Give Max a moment alone."

How can he. . .not understand? They don't get it. They'll never get how much this hurts. To have lost Krit.

It's dark now. Everyone is back at Logan's, thinking up as many Krit-related stories as they can. They don't know about the time we camped out in rural Wyoming, testing explosives. Or the time we robbed an Indiana Police station. The jokes, the fun, the way it used to be.

Shame Logan and Max leave guns lying around the penthouse. I thought Max was all anti-guns, but I guess Logan isn't. And that's a good thing. I brushed Zack off, telling him I needed to get some fresh air, take a walk, sort things out.

Everyone else is telling me I need to deal, to cry. But I can't. I know everything thinks that I'm not caring. But that's the whole problem, isn't it. It hurts so much, there's no point in crying. It won't bring him back.

The gun in my hand is sleek, black and silver. Cool metal, a good gun.

My blonde hair is in a high ponytail, loose strands fluttering about my face. I've gotten changed. My favourite jeans, grey tank top and boots. Has to be this. I can't do this wearing something like that dress.

Is it me, or is the rain coming?

"I love you, Krit," I murmur, as I stare at his headstone. 'Krit Guevara, beloved brother'. He was so much more than my brother. . .he was the whole world. But he's Max's brother.

I see one of the roses Max left for you. Plain white in colour. Almost transparent in the moon light. I've never seen a rose up close. Sort of odd flower, aren't they? Soft, but thorns all up the stem. . .

It hits me then. The beautiful flower. The tears gather in my eyes and I don't even bother to try to stop them pouring down my face. Krit, why? You didn't deserve to die. You were an incredible person. Had so much?

The sound of my own sobbing brings me back to where I am. The cool breeze, smell of the rain and the scent of the rose. And the rising smell of earth. . .

I love you Krit. I'm not being a coward. I think it's courageous of me to do this to be with you. You'll never ever understand how much I love you and how I know this decayed, dead feeling inside me will never leave me.

I don't even remember doing it. The gun was in my hand, and the next, I was lying across Krit's grave, blood pouring from my chest. Crimson and looking like liquefied satin. It doesn't hurt; at least, the pain is deafened to the relief I feel, lying there. Everything is so much clearer here, one of my hands over the bullet wound in my chest. I can almost feel Krit again, his presence. I'll be with him, with Tinga and Ben and my Eva.

The rose catches my eye. It's pure white petals, are sticky with my blood, which is flowing so fast, it's everywhere. How can I still be here? White. White, for love, pure love. Max's love for her twin brother. I know she loves him, deep inside me, but she doesn't know him.

Blood. Red. Not death-red. That red is angry, insulting. This is peaceful but exciting. Like passion and love.

I can feel the rain on my face now. There's a flash of warmth in my body, and the clouds in the night sky slip across the clear night sky to cover the moon's light and I can feel my eyes flutter. A coolness settles around me, and a stillness settles inside of me.

The rose will be dead in the morning.