(Disclaimer: everything except plot belongs to Tamora Pierce, authoress extraordinaire, please don't sue me as I don't think chocolate chips or Mountain Dew are legal tender.)

(A/N: How I do love my reviewers! Sorry for prolonged update, I've been too busy for my own good. ;P I hope you enjoy this chapter! Also, about the Tobe/Loey thing—I'm definitely starting a fanfic on them. I'm incubating some ideas as we speak! It'll probably be set a few years after this one—enough time for hormones to kick in, eh? Au revoir!)

(P.S. I tried to hold off the fluff in the beginning of this chapter, but I, er, couldn't really help it. CAN YOU BLAME ME?!)

Neal sat back from the cot, fatigue lining his features. That was it, then – he was drained, utterly drained, excepting the slight murmur of Gift needed to keep him standing. Merric had been right – he had overdone it. ::But it was worth it,:: he thought, studying the figure on the thin mattress. ::It was worth it, to give her a chance at living.::

He knew he should sleep, but it seemed too much of an effort to even close his heavy eyelids, let alone get up and move to an adjacent cot. And he couldn't nap – he had a patient to take care of, after all. Instead, he found his gaze meandering over Kel's features. Feeling as if he fought his way through a hazy mist shrouding his mind, he let his eyes rest on her lips, which were slightly parted as she took shallow breaths. Neal dimly realized how plush they were, even chapped from the April winds. Paired with her long, dark eyelashes, they could easily make her a beauty rivaling the court butterflies he flirted with at balls. In fact, now that he thought about it, she was already beauti – wait. Neal sat bolt upright, eyes opening wide. What was he DOING? Thinking like that about his best friend – he reminded himself that she was his friend and nothing more – while she lay on a cot, close to death? Bad Neal. Very bad Neal.

He shook his head and drained half of the nearest water pitcher over his head. Better to stay alert, if being drowsy released thoughts like those. Where had that even come from? Kel was his best friend, and he didn't think of her that way! He was pretty certain, anyway...no. None of that. No indecision. Platonic relationship. That's all it was.

Neal scooted his chair further back from the cot, determined to stay fully awake now. No way was he falling into that half-asleep state again. He had a responsibility to keep vigil over his patient, and not to let himself slip into a dizzy form of mind where, it seemed, anything was possible.

A hand on his shoulder called Neal back into the present some time later. He looked up into the concerned chestnut eyes of Merric, who seemed to have recovered from their earlier fight. "How is she?"

Neal hesitated, unwilling to tell Merric the entire story. Merric saw him preparing to formulate a lie and shook his shoulder. "Queenscove, be honest. Don't sugar-coat it for my sake."

The green-eyed healer bit his lip. "Well, she's not bleeding anymore, so…that's good, I suppose." Seeing one of Merric's gingery brows arch in clear disbelief, he sighed. "All right. The truth? The straight and honest truth?"

Here Merric obviously lost control. "DAMN IT, NEAL!" he yelled, then quickly lowered his voice at the realization that there were other people besides the three of them in the infirmary. He struggled to keep a calm, level voice. "Queenscove," he said in a half-whisper, teeth gritted, "Would you PLEASE just TELL me HOW she IS."

Neal closed his eyes, resigned. "Bad," he replied. "She – well – one of the wounds got infected. I don't know how, but who knows what the Scanrans have on their arrows. In any case, I'm drained. Completely." He opened his eyes again, and Merric was startled – shocked, even – to see tears glimmering in the corners of them. Neal wiped his eyes with the corner of his sleeve and continued: "I feel like dung, Merric. Pure dung. I shouldn't've let her go out there, I shouldn't have drained myself so quickly…"

Merric, fighting off the anxiety threatening to besiege his own heart, said, trying to comfort Neal, "But – there's a chance she'll live, right? I mean, a pretty good chance, at that. You're a spectacular healer, and you closed the wounds almost completely. If – well – if she dies, it won't be your fault. You did the best you possibly could." He laid his hand on Neal's shoulder, gripping it in silent apology and attempted comfort, before turning back towards the door. He needed time to process the information that Kel, one of his closest friends, might not be there for him in the morning. Until now, he'd never even allowed the thought a tiny space to take hold of in his brain – now it overwhelmed him with worry. He waited until he left the infirmary before stopping and leaning against a nearby wall to let his emotions overcome him.

Neal sat blankly staring at Kel's cot, numbed with misery. How could he have let this happen? One minute he had been sitting there, trying to keep himself from falling asleep – and then he had noticed it. The arrow wound had become swollen and hot. Now, Kel's entire body was feverish. After all that work, all that effort , one fever could finish her off. Neal cursed himself for not being more attentive; if he had noticed it earlier, he could have – he could have – done something, at least.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. No way was he going to fall into a pit of self-hatred now. Kel needed him, at least to watch over the infection to keep it from getting worse. Neal grabbed the healing serums he kept handy and began applying them to the wound again, as he had done, almost religiously, every twenty minutes over the last three hours. That finished, he leaned back again, taking a deep breath. ::Come on, Queenscove. Got to keep yourself busy, somehow.:: If he didn't keep his mind occupied, it would began to spin out horrible future scenarios, all of a world without Kel, the second-ever lady knight and his closest friend. He cast about for something that would be more productive than worrying.

Finding nothing, his gaze settled on Kel again. Gods, was it only this morning that they had been teasing each other before breakfast? Had he even said goodbye to her before she rode out? Had he mentioned, oh, the casual fact that she was his best friend in the world and he'd be heartbroken if she was gone from it?

No. No, he hadn't. Of course he hadn't. Because he was an idiot, who took friendships – and even life – for granted. He sighed.

He found himself breathing in unison with Kel as he watched her form, beneath the blankets, rise and fall. In…out. In…out. Somehow, it comforted him to breathe along with her. It gave him a sense of security: that no matter what happened, she would breathe, as long as he kept breathing alongside her.

In…out. In…out. In…in…in…Neal found himself struggling to keep the captured air in his lungs as Kel was doing…out. Why was she breathing so irregularly? It was hard for him to inhale and exhale in unison with her if she kept holding her breath. At last, she inhaled. In…out. In…out.

Out. Out. Neal waited for the next breath to come, but it didn't. He stared at Kel's ribs, waiting for them to expand, but they didn't. His brain starving for lack of oxygen, still he waited until he could stand it no longer; finally, he gasped in a gulp of air. But Kel's torso still hadn't risen. Neal sat in his spot for a full minute before his mind processed what this meant. He rushed closer to check her pulse. It was rapid – too rapid, going too fast for him to count, when suddenly it slowed. A lot. Too much.

Neal didn't take time for conscious thought. The one remnant of an idea left in his mind was a scroll he had once read, of all things. The scroll had been detailing the Great Sweating Sickness of Corus and how Page Alan had dove into Death to save Prince Jonathan, who had fallen victim to it. The story had gone into immense depth about the heroic aspect involved, but only one phrase stuck in Neal's head now: "…dove into Death to save…"

There was no time for choices, or for the weighing of high risks. The split-second decision had already been made.

He plunged into Death after her.

(A/N: Woah. Ever have a story that you intend to end one way and then it completely takes a different turn as the result of multiple cans of Mountain Dew and too much chocolate? Yeah, that's what happened with this story. Sorry to leave you all on a cliffhanger, I know how much you guys hate that, but I really thought it was effective. - Keep that in mind, reviewer dears, when you're berating me for it. I drew inspiration from the "throwing himself in after her" bit quite a lot from Briar's Book, also by Tammy. If you've read it, you'll know what I mean.

Eh heh heh heh. You know you've always wanted Kel to die...- Review!)

Adios.)

(Also: I'm no doctor or anything, so if the pulse thing wouldn't be how someone dies, well…er…that's the way it goes for Kel.)