49

Abu saw it all - THE Bloody Red laughing, drunk with sin and wickedness; his thief in the night snatched Chairman Abd-al-Latif away, and Allah's fiery and terrible wrath poured down upon the Temple Mount for this desecration! May the great god have mercy upon him should the world perish at Mr. Bloody Red's slick hand.

Have mercy upon him and Muhammad, Allah did. The fires had dwindled to their last embers, crackling, flickering violently in the fresh breeze. Allah's gaze from on high softened, His red glare fading away gradually. The encroaching blue looked down upon him favorably as he carefully made his way around the foot of the wall, the southeastern corner, father and son hand-in-hand.

A flash - a sharp blast, the Bloody Red was consumed by Allah's dark wrath; he could see it from atop the large stairs, even through the shifting hot veils. The wind blew through his robes as it did the cloud of smoke. A pair of legs collapsed to the ground, it owner nowhere to be seen... till it fell from above. Allah had caught him - and promptly threw him down behind the eastern wall. His great judgment cast down; Bloody Red was done for.

A pair of kids, no older than Muhammad, had escorted another back to the Noble Sanctuary. The escorted head hidden by what appeared to be a red -hijab-. Infidels soiling, defiling the holy place with their paws and un-cloven hooves, it didn't matter… today! Allah will have His great and terrible judgment for them soon enough.

Muhammad left his side without hesitation, tending to the mess of pipe and broken scaffolding that kept the Jews' treachery from coming down. Pipe, rope, chips, and slivers of wood everywhere. The Jews' of course would deny any involvement, though they probably ordered their ace-in-the-whole to bring the whole structure down. The US would believe the Jews; they always did! Thankfully Jordan didn't stoop to their low level. They would believe Palestine; they would promptly send a -real- crew that will help - not hinder - Al-Aqsa to keep standing triumphantly over Israel.

"Father, this place is a mess!" his son exclaimed, mooning him as he scooped up a coil of rope. "It will take a whole team a couple weeks to clean this up and erect a new brace. Where is that fiend? When I get my hands on him, he will wish Allah had taken him to Hell in a gift basket! Of that, I will be sure!"

"Calm down, son." He replied coolly. "The Blood Red is not as far gone as you think."

Judgment was not complete for Bloody Red, it seemed. Writing pitifully through his own bloody red, his "better" half lay atop an outcropping of rock, still soiling, and still corrupting Allah's creation with fouled crimson. The twisted, ragged folds and rips of flesh at the severed waist but a taste of what hell Allah had before him.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Bloody Red himself." His tired lips easily pulled into a smile. "Funny, it is, how we keep meeting like this - yes?"

An orb of dull hazel gazed back at him jadedly. Shaky lips parted and a mouthful of thick crimson came bubbling out, flowing down the reddened half of his twisted, ghastly face.

"I assume so." The corner of his lips quickly dropped into a frown. "But don't go to sleep, Bloody Red. We have so much to talk about! But rest assured that these little meetings will -never- happen again! Muhammad!"

A shift of cloth - a crackle-snap of rope and the Bloody Red squeaked. As his son and Allah as his witness, The Major actually squeaked!

This is going to be fun!

XXX

Because he didn't get enough exercise playing dodge ball around the Temple Mount with Drazen, Ron pushed his achy body further just to reach the foot of the southeastern corner. His brain alive, calculating briefly the best spaces to place his tired feet. Weaving around outcroppings, leaning against the undulated slope, it would do wonders for his balance.

A jagged piece of wood peeked at him from beyond the corner of the wall. Strength surged to his achy legs, hurrying him carefully to that corner. Unless he had the strength left to wiggle and writhe away, Drazen's better half would just be around the sharp bend—

—"Whoa…!" his throat tightened. "Oh my…!"—

—And around the bend he was. Lain lifelessly atop an outcropping of rock with glossy red sheen, Drazen was roped to that very stone as though he had a thing for bondage. The disgusting, ragged flaps of tissue were gone, hidden by a thick coil of rope. The fibers were blushing, embarrassed, forced to keep its very captive alive.

"My suit - my body…!" It came from the bound punk like a sigh. "Damn… I've nothing to wear for the party. Still, Blondie is going to bring the shindig to me, yeah…?"

"No." He took to a knee. "Told you before, Drazen. You're not getting off that easy. Looks like the Palestinians agree."

"I don't believe that…." Drazen breathed. "They'll cart me off just to string me up on a lamppost… or even - tear my body apart! Hell… they better enjoy it while they can… before the world comes down!"

"What're you babbling about, Drazen?" he shook his head. "You're out of men and your bomb's a dud. You lost! Why can't you just accept that?"

"That's what you think…." He chuckled weakly.

His dull hazel was locked, twitching in place as though transfixed on something. A gentle crumble, Drazen flinched when a pebble tapped him on the cheek. He looked up. The second bulge loomed over him threateningly.

"Great!" he cursed. "This is all I need!"

"Think you can stop it…?" Drazen asked. "When it falls, it'll take -Al-Aqsa- with it…! The Muslims enraged, destruction of 'the furthest mosque' like gasoline on a wildfire…. The world will come down soon after that - probably the Russkies leading the banzai charge. Yes… this world will end in a ball of instant sunshine—!"

Drazen coughed, a thin haze of crimson blew out of the punk's mouth.

"I die here… the madness will surely come…!" the madman continued, lifting his strange head. Orb of hazel neither dim nor strong, just… empty: lights on but no one's home. "A shame I won't be here to see it end…! I will slip forever into oblivion. A shame I won't see you or Kimmie die like the little mongrels I once knew…! There's… there's a bullet for everyone, you know. And a time… and a place…! I - I can see it! The… end—"

Drazen lost his head to gravity; metal shards ringing vacantly like the solemn toll of a church's bell. The ropes that held him fast sank, the chest deflating as God's breath of life escaped through parted lips. The chest rose not again. Drazen was dead, Major Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen, formerly of The Family Private Army and commandant of the Victims' Separatist Army was dead.

"Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?" -

Muscles strained to push himself up to his weak feet. The battle was over; evil was conquered by good this day. Though he won, the victory was shallow if not empty, fleeting. Victory was not sweet, not the great lover others had hyped it to be. No, it was just another one-night-stand, abandoning him high and dry. Her lingering taste sour, a bitter reminder of what was and was not.

It felt kind of… sad.

Carefully he turned to maneuver away, giving Uzziel a final glimpse of his ass walking away. The slick rock would be relinquished of its gruesome burden within the next several days certainly, burying it promptly within that time period. No pomp, no circumstance: Drazen deserved not that respect. Yet he wouldn't be surprised if the government simply forgot about the body completely, abandoning it to the buzzards. Beaks pointy and sharp, pecking rips and tears into the rotting flesh so big not even master seamstress could patch. Crimson, peach, pale, brown, and hazel: all the colors and shades of Uzziel would become the same foul color in the end.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—!

Through the soles of his shoes, his feet shook as the ground quaked. Over his shoulder, he stole a look. Through the tan, wispy veil, Drazen was still at rest underneath a fall of brown hail, dark globs that left a vapor of dust, flinching equal to the bounce of the stones. The crumbling rumble was a crescendo, loud and intense. The protrusion above was about to pop, pebbles and chunks falling, stuffing tumbling out from the cracks like a leaky boil.

"Aw MAN…!"

Forearms against his crown, he braced himself - the bulge exploding in a thick brown cloud, stone crumbling, tumbling to the angled ground like the ancient walls of Jericho! The powdery earth thick; dust consuming like a sandstorm. He coughed haggardly. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, a total brownout as though the earth swallowed him whole! A suffocating pit he couldn't escape—!

A hand drove itself through the storm, seizing him by the collar. The digits thin and bony like spider legs, snatching onto him like pray. The smooth cold was refreshing on the back of his neck. Ground beneath him slipped off his feet, tailbone sore when his butt smacked onto the hard ground. He knew then what a helpless housefly felt like as the bony spider carted him away.

"There…!" that familiar voice grunted no more than a foot behind, thick with Semitic timbre. "Got you, Stoppable!"

Grains were sandpaper on his face, scratching into his skin as he wiped them away. Fingers poked at the corners of his eyes. Tiny granules there were like vagrants, gladly making themselves at home.

"Hershel…?" he batted his eyes. "What're you…?"

"Quit poking yourself, Stoppable." The woman replied. His body was at the will of the woman's thin arms, slowly turning him around. "I'll get you some eye-drops. Hold on."

A small piece of cold, hard plastic pressed against his palm. Hershel's fingers capped his own, folding them, molding them around the bottle.

"There you are." Hershel said. "Wash your eyes out with it."

"Ah-ha...!" He sighed as the plastic tip touched his eye. Soothing, relief was, a cold and wet coat that focused in the world a little more clearly. The irritating grains were gone with the flow. The eviction noticed served swiftly and justly. "Thank you, Hershel."

With a tight pinch she took back the bottle, slipping it behind the flap of her business jacket.

"You're welcome again, Stoppable." Hershel nodded. "Be grateful I was in the neighborhood, or you would have joined Uzi underneath the rubble."

His heart jumped against his lungs, taking in a shallow breath.

"Oh no!" loose earth grinded against his shoes as he turned around. "The mosque—!"

"It's still standing, Ronald." A bony hand capped his shoulder. "Calm down."

He blinked again - she was right! He didn't know how or why. The answer proved elusive but she was still right! Towering over the wreck did the ancient mosque continued to stand. A smooth piece of what appeared to be rock peeked at him through the ragged hole like the bald patch on an older man's head.

"What?" his eyes boggled. "I don't understand - the mosque—!"

"Is still there." Her hand guided him around again. "I made sure it would should any hardliners try anything today."

"Huh…?" he shook his head.

"Brain-hurt, yes?" she smirked. "Don't worry, I'll explain the best I can. But let's meet up with your friends first, okay?"

"Yeah…." He nodded slowly. "Okay."

XXX

Emergency medical technicians, firefighters, and police, the sanctuary was alive with activity.

Firefighters had their hands full quenching the hot, thirsty tongues outside, lapping at their water greedily and even the mount's upwelling water. Weapons ignored on the men and women in coal berets, converging on Sadie like a swarm. Springs squeaked sharply as the police rolled her back on her feet, backing her away from the boulder. An EMT took over where Tara had left off, tending properly to Mr. Chairman's wounds with a couple sutures.

Another man with the red Hebrew emblazoned on his orange vest draped Robin with the final sheet on her gurney, smoothing out the shady wrinkles before he wheeled her out the door. Light was pure; the portal was bathed in bright white. Shadows were gone, overwhelmed by the light as though the man had whisked her friend into Heaven.

Never to be seen again….

"Goodbye, Robin." Kim sighed. Her eyes were wet, moisture seeping between the lids. "Thank you… for everything."

A man in black garb watched it all like a hawk, baggy arms folded with a stern frown pulled just above his frizzy beard, soliciting himself to play referee. Those dark eyes, so disparaging, twitching at every movement the police and EMT made. Not simply reviewing at what damage has been done, rather looking -for- something to carp about.

"Lord, what's that guy's damage?" Tara blinked.

The tan brow furrowed, dark hawk eyes shooting her a dagger. The blonde simply shrugged back.

"Frowning upon the Israelis work, helping Chairman Abdul-Latif while some back Sadie away from the Noble Rock and all." Yune replied. "He's probably an agent for the Waqf. If not, he's just as anal."

"We saved this place from a radiation bath and this is the thanks we get?" Tara folded her arms crossly. "That's gratitude for you!"

"Better drop it, T." Yune said. "An argument with him will get you nowhere except off the mount with a foot up your butt."

"You should not need worry about him." Mr. Chairman called. His calves were white when the EMT at his legs wrapped them around with fresh, clean bandages. "He is here to only assess the damage, not to play a bouncer. Considering what you have done for me today, I shall not let him."

"Cool." Kim nodded. "I could use the sit - Ow!"

Pain was like a pinch, a reminder of the medic at her side that she had completely spaced. Brown eyes gave her a warm glance before they refocused at her side, shoulders draped with orange shrugged as one cocked back. The bandages a corset, constricting around her waist like a boa. Skin pinched, floating ribs arced a little too inwardly. In a gag, her breath escaped.

"There…!" the medic took in a breath, the loose flap pleated and taut in a clenched grip. The back of his other hand drew across his brow before it came down on her with the clamp. Pressure seemed to ease as her skin bounced back through it. "That was not so bad, was it, Ms. Possible?"

"They can send a man to the moon but the can't find a better way to sew up a gash?" she asked rhetorically. "Man, I hate needles."

"I do not know anyone who does, actually." The medic shrugged. "But as for you, simply take it easy. Do not do anything strenuous. We will be taking you to the hospital shortly."

"Can I walk?" she asked.

"I would rather you not." The medic replied. "After your bandaging, I would really hate it if your wound tore open again."

"All right." She sighed. "If I must."

"Aw - leave the man alone…!"

Her heart jumped. That voice, noisy and flat, just like music to her ears. Beautiful music that eased her fears, motioned that everything was right with the world once more in the movement of its sweet melodic line.

Yet that melodic line was rather blunt.

"Quit busting the man's balls, KP." He said.

It didn't stop her from taking at look ahead. A little worn around the edges, there was Ron - her Ron - standing valiantly, jadedly before her. His feet strained to keep him up, but everybody's favorite Barbie doll relieved them of the task. Hershel was useful after all, as a crutch.

"Ron!" she would have leapt for joy if the medic didn't have a grip on her. "You're still alive!"

"Hey, KP." He smiled back. "I try to keep my promises the best I can."

"What happened?" She exclaimed. "There was a rumbling - like an earthquake! And then a big crash, and—"

"There was no earthquake, Kimberly." Hershel said simply, oddly with all things considered. "The second bulge collapsed."

The lame shall speak: the man in baggy black found his voice.

"WHAT?"

"-Al-Aqsa- is still standing." Hershel's eyes rolled. "Calm down."

"And what about Drazen." Tara asked. "What about him?"

"Dead..." Ron sighed, "and buried. Crushed underneath a ton of stone, a proper end for that heretic! Safe to say he won't be crawling his way out from under that much rock, no matter what he's on."

The man in baggy black let out a sigh of his own, thick with relief, it would seem.

"But how…?" She asked. "How's the mosque still standing? And Hershel! What're you doing here?"

"It'd be safe to say that my team and I were responsible for the mosque." The woman explained. "Just after I got back to the office, my boss had me supervise a construction team ordered to Solomon's Stables to prevent the mosque's imminent collapse. Amazing what a couple of well-placed two-by-fours and I-beams can do, really."

"This doesn't sound like your kind of work, Hershel." Her brow kinked. "Or does it?"

"That's because it's not, Possible." Hershel sighed. "Punishment for insubordination, I believe. I have yet to see what America has in store for me."

"At least your shoes look the part." She smirked on a lark.

"Old IAF boots." Lifting her heel, the woman rolled her ankle. "I can't maneuver around slopes and rocks in pumps, can I? It's been over a decade and they still fit."

"Good for you." She gave her a thumbs-up. "Be sure to polish them up properly."

Hershel groaned while her eyes took a lap around her head.

"You're incorrigible, Possible."

"Back at you, Hershel." She smirked genuinely.

"So what now?" Tara said. "What should we do?"

"Well…" Hershel took a breath as she eased Ron to the floor, "you've done more for this country than I had expected. Kimberly, Ronald, it appears our meeting back off the coast of Spain wasn't coincidence, but rather providence. It's as though God Himself chose you two for this very purpose, as much as your choice of a support team."

Tara smiled brightly while her man simply nodded. The man in baggy black frowned disparagingly, arms folded crossly over his chest.

"This is ludicrous!" the man exclaimed. "Police! Do your job and arrest that woman!"

"Oh - for the love of—!" Mr. Chairman moaned. "Police, do your job and disregard that order."

"We don't answer to you anyway, Mr. Chairman." From behind crumpled Sadie, a policeman replied. "Sorry!"

"WHAT?" the baggy man's brown dots shrank on their beds of white. "What do you mean 'disregard', Mr. Chairman?"

"I mean let the woman talk." Mr. Abdul-Latif folded too his arms. "She wasn't talking to you, anyway."

"But, this is a direct violation—!"

"This is a -direct- order from the Chairman, good man!" the chairman pressed. "Let it drop!"

"BUT—!"

"No BUTS!" the chairman shouted. "Now do continue, Ms. Hershel."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman." She nodded. "As I was saying, I don't think this country would have done it much better with out all of your help. I hardly think one man could do it all by his lonesome. Something powerful resonates from you, all of you. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but you've clearly shown over these past couple of days.

"Possible, your tenacity helped turn the wheels of justice, bringing about Uzziel's downfall. Bin-Mok, your sense of justice gave you sight beyond my own; during the times I couldn't see five minutes ahead. Firsthand knowledge of Drazen proved invaluable! Stark, your sense of friendship held this team together, even when it was about to tear apart.

"And Stoppable, you have exuded a sense of patriotism the likes I haven't seen for a long time! Everything you did you've done for your God and your country. Ronald R. Stoppable, I believe I can say that with utmost honesty that you are a true patriot!"

"Really…?" those chocolate eyes were about to melt from his head. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course." She nodded. "Going beyond the call for friends, family, and those we love."

She smiled warmly. Her heart tingled at the thought.

"Thank you, Ariel." Ron said. "But I think there's one more person you're forgetting. Considering what she did, she doesn't deserve to be forgotten. I know her family sure won't."

The team nodded. Mr. Abd-al-Latif bobbed his head in agreement.

"Yes." Hershel sighed dejectedly. "Robin Ata. She's like Tara too. Taking into her home the enemy of her own love, caring for them when not even my company would. Feeding them, sheltering them, sacrificing her love, even herself for the sake of the call. Given a second chance, I don't believe she would have done it any different."

"I agree." Ron nodded.

"Her family will be properly compensated, and she will be given a funeral one that's to be remembered." Hershel said. "We will not weep at her demise. No. Instead we shall celebrate her life, venerate her last days. She might as well have saved this country and the world along side you."

"Thank you." Kim smiled. "A shame I couldn't be there to see her much in action, but I can see her labors bear fruit today."

"How's that, KP?" Ron asked.

"Simple." She smiled warmly. "We're still alive."

"Ms. Hershel." Tara pushed herself to her knees. "Is there any unfinished business you'd like us to take care of? Anything at all?"

"Actually no." the Barbie shook her head. "With Uzziel finally dead and his forces in custody, the mission is officially over. Case closed. As I told Yune early this morning, I'd like to have all of you at Ben-Gurion first thing when everything's back online. Though that can take days, so relax. Give any wounds a chance to heal. I'll contact you as soon as communications are restored."

"How will we know that?" Tara's brow perked.

Yune shook his head while his eyes took a lap around.

"The -phone-, Tara." He sighed.

"Oh." The blonde blinked before her palm met her crown. "Right - Duh!"

"Sounds like a plan." Ron said. "It sounds like it'll be great going back home. I only wish I could join you."

The bandages pulled at her sides when she sat up.

"What…?" she blinked.

"You all are going home." Ronnie said. "I'm sorry that I cannot."

"What do you mean you can't?" she looked at him incredulously. "Of course you can. You're coming with us… aren't you?"

"No." That plastered, solid mat of dirty yellow shook atop his head. "I'm not going."

"What'd you mean you're not going?" she demanded.

"It's hard to put into words, KP." Ron replied. "Even if I could, you'd probably dismiss me altogether."

"No, I wouldn't!" she shook her head. "Ron, you maybe my best friend but you're more to me than that now. I love you, and you wouldn't know I'd dismiss or anything till you tried me."

"I don't know, KP." Ron sighed. "I don't know where to begin. But for some reason, I sense more work to be done. There are more things here that I've got to do. I don't know how or why. I don't know what these things are, but I'm sure the longer I stay the faster they'll come to light.

"During my time here, through Robin and others, I've come to realize that this is where I belong. Israel: the land that the good Lord had given to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—"

The man in baggy black interjected.

"And Ishmael!"

"SHUT IT!" Mr. Chairman shouted back.

"My family fled this place once before, before the first uprising, and in a sense… I abandoned it too. When I found myself in the West Bank, aghast as I looked upon those corpses strung up to the lampposts, I wanted to leave the country. I was as eager to leave as my family. But that was a decision I've regretted for most of my life, my life when I was old enough to realize why I was more or less depressed. I've abandoned my home. I've killed my soul! It's been dead for the past decade. But now that I've come back here… I don't ever want to leave it again."

She frowned.

"Is that why you're abandoning me?"

"No, KP!" her heart cringed as those chocolate eyes glistened wetly in the light. "I'd never abandon you. I want to be with you, KP. But this is something I have to do, for myself. If I leave here again, I don't think I could ever look at myself in the mirror the same way anymore."

"But Ron…!" she protested. Her lids batted slickly atop of wet eyes. "I know this is the Jewish homeland, given to you by God - but it's still a slab of earth and rock just like any other place on earth! What exactly do you want, Ron? I can go with you to synagogue on Saturdays! I can even celebrate the feasts and holidays with your family! But please, Ron—!"

"KP…!" he growled softly, his frown was as disparaging as the man in baggy black.

"Word of advice, Kimberly." Hershel too frowned. "Don't EVER construe this land as another slab of dirt, especially in front of a Zionist. We share a deep connection with this land - the smart Israelis do at least. It'd be like saying America and France are one in the same."

"They're NOT one in the same!" Tara exclaimed. "Sure the French Fries helped during the revolution - but that's about IT!"

Her makeshift clogs clomped on the floor as she jumped to her feet, but Yune coaxed her, reined her in with a grip on her wrist. The woman gestured at the girl with a sweep of her hand.

"Case in point - right there!" Hershel said. "But I'm sure Ron's willing to gloss over your infraction, given your state."

"Yep." He nodded. "This is just something I have to do, KP."

"Do what a man's got to do?" she sniffed. "Don't you dare pull that macho BS on me, Ronald Stoppable!"

"Have you been listening to me, KP?" Ron sighed. "At all? I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm ready to grow up, to be a man! I've been dead for the past 10 years, and it seems you can't get your head around that. I'm doing this for myself, KP - and in a sense… I'm doing this for you too."

"Oh - you are NOT doing this to protect me, Ronald!" she snarled.

"I never said I was, KP—"

"You DIDN'T HAVE TO!"

She gave into gravity's tug, letting herself flatten against the floor. She cringed, her face twisting so painfully. Her hands shot up to her face, cupping it, hiding it away from everyone. Her breath warm against her hot cheeks, the water had an easy time escaping her eyes. Her cries came out like coughs.

"Ronald…!" she cried. "Please…!"

Voices all around though close were hushed and distant, a challenge great for sounds to slip through her fingers.

"-Dreck! -" The medic beside cursed, she was sure.

"What?" Hershel said. "What is it?"

"No, she is -bleeding- again!" the medic exclaimed. "Wound must have torn open. Either way, we need her out of here now! Can I get a gurney over here?"

"All right." Hershel replied. "I'll spread the word around. Time to say goodbye, kids. Ron, you've got a serious choice to make. I'm sorry, but make it quick. Any other day, I'd give you more time but you've got till the gurney arrives."

"Yeah." Ron said. "Okay…."

Her hands slipped off her face, the cool air refreshing on her hot cheeks, cooler where the tears had trickled. A screech - a skittering clack, the squeaky wheels a piercing crescendo, growing fast. It was horrible; a shriek that her worn mind couldn't make sense of.

Already several pairs of hands were on her body, prying her off the ground. Their grips tight and firm, but they eased as soon as her back flushed against a soft-yet-firm slab just a few feet above the ground. Ron walked up to her side, looming over her fatherly.

"Ron…." She sniffed.

"I love you, Kim." His breath was warm on her cheek when he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Know that."

"I do." She nodded solemnly. "I too know I can't make you do anything you don't want…. You may stay here if you want. I'd be lying to say I was happy. I'm not - but I know how much this place means to you. There's one thing I'd like to ask you, Ron. No - not ask - rather promise me something."

"Of course, Kimberly." He smiled warmly. "Anything for you."

"I want you to promise…" she sniffed, "that you'll return someday."

"KP, I—" he couldn't finish.

Right now, she sure as hell wouldn't let him.

"Promise me, Ron." She said assertively. "Promise you'll come back."

"That I promise you, KP."

He leaned in for another peck, but sorrow drained not the strength from her limbs just yet. They held him, clutched him by the neck, his kiss a clammy smear on her cheek as she slipped her lips under his own. Ron took aback but her arms kept him still, and soon he too melted into her embraced. His tongue poked at her lips, slipping between them gingerly. Oh how she wanted more, how she wanted him to carry her away, far and far away—

—But it was not to be. Ronald could not carry her away; that was the medics' job, wheeling her on squeaky, trembling wheels away to a cold, sterile room. She slipped her head back as far as her neck would allow. Ron stood upside down, his solemn frown a smile from the angle. With a shake of his head he turned around, her final sight his backside walking away before the thick entryway swept over her view.

She sighed. Her chest trembled in sorrows shroud of an embrace as her eyes blinked a little more wetly.

Goodbye, Ronnie…. - she sniffed. -I love you…! -

Just like that, her thought had transcended into a shout.

"I LOVE YOU!"