PLEASE READ:

If you're identifying with anything Alex has been saying or feeling, if you feel lonely or depressed or tired all the time with no enjoyment from your daily life, I absolutely urge you to seek help or support if you haven't already. You are valued, and you are enough, no matter your situation. This is the phone number for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline:

1-800-273-8255

This is the Depression Hotline:

630-482-9696

There are other numbers for Domestic and Sexual Abuse, Eating Disorders, or LGBTQ+ issues, and several other numbers for your particular issue. These are American numbers, but I'm sure other countries have similar resources. Your trauma is valid, and your deserve support, no matter your situation or circumstances.

Just a warning. I'd much rather you not read if this will trigger any uncomfortable thoughts. Stay safe and well :)

Also warnings for a naughty word, so again, the 11 and 12 year olds who think they're adults and can lie about their age, make better choices, and don't repeat it.

Also. I'm…so sorry. But I lied. K-Unit is NEXT chapter. And I'm so sorry because I knew you were so excited and I really did plan to have them this chapter but then…then THIS thing happened and it was very different from what I'd planned and it got really deep and dark and I was like "oh shit um this is a lot for this chapter" and I had to end it there…and I apologize I really really do but I hope you liked it anyway? And I'll try to get the next one done really soon. Sorry. Sorry. Bye. Enjoy, and have tissues on hand.

I tried to leave.

It didn't go over well.

"Jag, you can't just—just go," Bear said from the doorway, looking clueless as I shoved things into my bag, feeling dizzy and weak and terrified. Tiger stood beside him, eyes pinched in concern, and Lion was standing beside me helplessly, looking for somewhere to jump in, I supposed.

I ignored him, zipping up my bag and fumbling with my jacket.

"Alex, stop," Lion said, and it was the voice that said he wasn't messing around. When I didn't acknowledge him, he stepped forward, grabbing my wrists to physically stop me from moving any further. It was a testament to how flustered I was that he was able to. "Calm down. Listen to us. Alright?"

"I can't stay," I said shakily, grimacing when Lion didn't let go. I could've tried to flip him, or broken from the hold, but I didn't want to hurt him. "Let me go, Lion."

"No," he said emphatically, eyes blazing with resolved worry and frustration. "Not until you agree to sit down and think. We're going to talk about this, we're going to help you, but you can't just go AWOL."

"I have to!" I yelled, wrenching my wrists from his hands and stumbling back, catching myself on the nightstand. The tenuous string that was my sanity and my ability to rationally think was stretched dangerously thin, and I wanted nothing more than to shut everything down. "I have to go, quickly. You don't—you don't understand. You don't know what'll—what'll happen—"

"Then explain it to us," Tiger said, slipping into the room by Bear, arms crossed. "Tell us what's going on, so we can know how to help."

"You can't help!" I yelled, feeling the thread stretch and fray. "This isn't something you can just fix because you want to! They're dangerous. It's not like—like they'll learn you're from the SAS and cut their losses. If it's—if it's who I think it is, they'll kill you. They'll shoot you on the street, or kill you in your sleep, and they won't care. They don't—they don't care who gets hurt. If they think it'll benefit them, they'll go after Jonah, or Angelica, or—or your parents or Bear's dad. They have people everywhere. It's not like I made some small-time crook mad and he's coming after me with a crowbar. They're ruthless and cruel and—and…"

Voicing the worries that had plagued me for weeks ended up being too much, and I stumbled back into the wall, my hands fisted in my hair as I shut my eyes. I gasped, trying very hard not to sob.

I didn't—I didn't want to go. I didn't want to start over again. I didn't want to be alone again. I'd finally—I'd finally found something, something worth a damn, and I didn't want to give it up, but I didn't want them to get hurt—

I felt a panic attack building steadily, and I couldn't breathe, and I felt like my chest was being crushed. I felt my fingertips and toes buzz with adrenaline that had no outlet, my fight or flight response shouting to be heard.

"Calm down," Lion said, his voice softer. He put his hands on my shoulders and I flinched, but I didn't push him away. "Calm down. You're panicking. You can't think like this, okay? Just…just sit down."

He took my elbows and gently sat me on the bed where I folded, gasping. I felt like I was sucking air through a narrow straw, and it wasn't nearly enough to satiate my need for air.

They knew where I was. They knew who I was with. They knew I was here.

They could come at any moment. They could be right outside the door.

They'd come, and hurt them, and take me, and hurt me, and—and—

"Shit, he's not coming out of it," I heard Lion say as I continued to wheeze, feeling hot tears drip off my nose and down my cheeks as I stared at the carpet and Lion's knees. "Bear, do you have—something, I…where's his Xanax?"

"Let me try something first," Bear said, and then he was replacing Lion kneeling in front of me. "Listen. Listen."

I felt his hand come to grip the back of my neck, and suddenly, my brain stopped computing everything, because he was wrapping his other arm around me and my forehead was on his shoulder. I was staring at his chest now instead of the floor, and I was trembling against him.

"I need you to slow down," Bear said quietly, his voice even and low. "I need you to take a deep breath. Feel how I'm doing it?" He took a breath, and it was exaggeratedly slow, and deep. "Just like that. Do it with me."

I felt useless. I felt young and weak. I felt helpless. He wasn't supposed to have to calm me down. I was supposed to be used to the running, the hiding, the lying. The picking up everything I needed and dropping everything else and disappearing. I was supposed to be good at it now.

I was supposed to be nineteen years old and self-sufficient and self-reliant and strong. I was supposed to be able to take on the world, because that's how I wanted to be. I wanted to be able to do it alone so I wouldn't have to rely on others that I knew I couldn't hold on to.

And now I was crying into the shoulder of my SAS unitmate, sixteen and very, very afraid. Falling apart and crumbling. They must've thought I was an absolute coward. That I was just a weakling. Just a boy in over his head and in too deep to ever get out.

I tried to do as he asked, but it was another shallow, trembling gasp, and it just as quickly turned into a sob.

I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to be weak, I didn't want to leave.

"Easy, easy," Bear said quickly, hand tightening on the back of my neck in comfort. "Try again. It's okay. Just try again."

I gasped again, but it was deeper.

"There you go," he said gently. "Again."

He was handling me with kiddie gloves. Like a child, and I didn't want to be treated like fractured glass. I didn't want to be treated like the broken kids he talked about from the youth center. I didn't want to be just another stupid kid crumbling under the weight of things that I should be able to handle by now.

But I couldn't even breathe, and I was so, so scared.

So I listened, and did it again.

"There you go," Bear said. "There you go. You're alright. We're fine. Everything's going to be fine."

I bristled at the words. Maybe he felt it, because he tightened his hold on me.

But he didn't say anything to take it back.

"I can't—I c-can't let them…them hurt you," I admitted, too tired and too scared to censor my words. "I can't—I finally have something and they t-took everything else and I can't…"

"Alright," Bear conceded. "Alright."

But it wasn't alright, and I didn't know if it would ever be alright.

Bear handed me a mug of coffee and sat beside me on the couch in the living room. Two sugars, no cream. I took a sip. It was good. Tasted like it had some whiskey in it, though.

"Are you calmer?" Tiger asked from one of the armchairs.

"Do I look calmer?" I asked tonelessly. What a stupid question.

Tiger's eyes narrowed. "Don't do that. We're trying to help."

I stayed quiet.

Lion held the letter in his hands. He'd read it a couple more times, even though he must've remembered what it said by now. He said he forgot things easily. Perhaps it was that.
"Who sent it?"

I shrugged, staring sightlessly at the glass table. "I dunno. It…I dunno for sure."

I saw Tiger's eyes darken out of the corner of my eye, but Bear cut in before he could. "Who do you think sent it?"

I shifted, taking another sip of coffee. "I told you…people were after me." I blinked slowly, my eyes still burning and heavy. "I…it's two groups, really. They have different reasons." One to use, one to kill, and both to hurt. "I think it's…one of them."

It was quiet for a long minute, and I took another sip. In a brief spurt of childish desire, I wanted to tug the threadbare blanket from the back of the couch and hold it around my shoulders. I wanted the comfort. But I'd been too weak today to even keep from crying, and I couldn't let myself sink any lower.

"If you want us to help, you're going to have to be a little more honest," Lion said pointedly, trying to be gentle, but persistent, nonetheless. "I know you're not ready, but…I don't think they're going to wait for you to be."

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood as tears flooded my eyes. I blinked them back, and swallowed thickly, and said, "I don't…if you know, you'll kick me out. The end is the same. I don't want to leave with you hating me."

"We won't hate you," Bear said immediately, sounding affronted. "Give us some more credit than that."

"Why?" I asked, blinking slowly again. My eyes burned anew. "S'not like it'll matter later. You knowing won't stop them. You knowing won't change anything."

Tiger let out a frustrated breath, but remained silent.

"Us knowing will be us knowing what to do if someone comes calling," Lion said. He sounded upset. Not sad. Maybe a little angry. Good, maybe he wouldn't make me stay. I wanted to, but not at the risk of their lives.

"You can't protect me."

Lion pinched the bridge of his nose. Bear shifted next to me.

I took a breath. Perhaps this was better. Perhaps if they knew, they'd let me leave. Maybe this was the push I needed to finally end it. I'd contemplated it before, on those bridges, but…I'd always managed to hold on to a delicate, frightening sliver of hope. I thought the future had given me a chance with this. This flat, this place, these people.

Perhaps it was fate giving me a glimpse of happiness before making me realize it would be better to end it all anyways, because it was a pretty illusion.

If they reacted like I thought they would, if they got angry and yelled and asked me to leave…I'd know. I'd know. And I'd go to Cookham Bridge, and I'd end it.

"They're the same ones who…who trained me how to hurt people," I said slowly, working up to it. I couldn't just…say it. I couldn't make myself do that. But maybe I could ease into it. Maybe it would be easier to say. "I…I betrayed them, and they're the ones who…who shot me."

It was quiet for a few seconds. My hands were warm around the coffee mug, but the rest of me was cold in frigid anticipation.

"And now they're trying to finish the job?" Tiger asked, his voice low.

"I suppose," I said quietly. "I…I managed to destroy most of the organization. But…it wasn't enough, I suppose."

It was quiet again.

"We need a name, kid," Lion said softly.

I closed my eyes, and put my head down, and felt shame seep into the darkest recesses of my mind.

The thin thread of my sanity was on the verge of being severed, but I said it anyways.

"SCORPIA."

The word tasted like ash and blood. The three syllables were heavy and bitter and small. It cut through the quiet air like a knife through thin paper.

It hurt to listen to the silence, so I took a sip of coffee.

It was still silent.

"The…" Bear's voice was choked on shock. "The terrorist organization?"

I nodded.

"How—" Tiger's voice was rough, and I could hear him trying to contain his anger, but it wasn't enough. I flinched, waiting for the outburst. I'd know. I'd know soon. "How the bloody hell did you get mixed up with them? No, wait—you…you went to them?"

I shrank under his words, grasping the mug so tightly I was worried it would break. "Yes."

"What the actual fuck—" Tiger stood, in a fluid rush of abrupt rage, and paced like—well, like an angry tiger. "What—how could you be so stupid?"

"Tiger," Bear said quietly, trying to calm his friend, but it was too late.

"No, Henry, don't—don't defend him. What the hell's wrong with you? Why did you—how could you possibly think they could help you?"

I took a shaky breath, staring at the floor under my feet and the mug in my hands, my eyes blurring with tears that I tried to keep locked in. One plunked pathetically into my coffee. I closed my eyes.

"I told you—they…I was lied to—"

"Oh, and that makes it better," Tiger said, flinging a hand out in an abortive gesture of sarcastic contempt. "I don't—I don't even know what to say to you. Why? Why did you think they could help you? What—"

"Tiger," Lion said. I flinched. His voice was hard. "That's enough."

I looked up through blurred eyes and looked at his face, and a little part of me broke, because he looked so disappointed.

And Tiger was angry.

And Bear was silent.

"Are you going to let me leave now?" Are you going to make me leave now?

"Do you want to?" Lion asked. His voice was carefully neutral. "I'm not asking if you think you need to. Do you want to."

Hesitantly, hating myself, I shook my head.

Despite the disappointment, the anger, the silence, this was still the only place in the world I wanted to be, and I hated myself for it.

"Then no," he said with a heavy breath. It could have been disappointment. It could have been relief. I couldn't tell. "No, you're staying right here."

I ignored the way my shoulders fell even as my heart clenched.

I was signing their death warrants.

I couldn't stay.

"Can you…give us a minute?" Lion asked quietly, sounding unsure. It felt like a sign. It felt like the perfect opportunity for escape just after I'd decided to do so, and my heart twisted at the morbid coincidence. "We're not deciding anything without you. Just…you look spent. I want you to rest. And I want to give Tiger a minute to calm down," he said pointedly.

Tiger let out sardonic snort, shaking his head as he stared out the window, his face scrunched in anger.

I glanced at him, and he still looked disappointed, but he looked worried, too. I glanced at Bear, who was staring resolutely at the table with a far-off stare, his hands fidgeting in front of him.

Thank you for everything you've done for me.

Thank you for taking care of me.

Thank you for trying to help me.

Words of gratitude and goodbyes bounced inside my head like violent pinballs, writhing to escape, but I choked them down with a slow sip of coffee, relishing the comfort of being surrounded by people who gave a damn. It may have been a carefully constructed illusion to maintain my sanity, now, but it was comforting.

"…okay," I said quietly. The rest of the words died softly in my heart.

I put the coffee mug on the table and stood. I wobbled once, and Bear grasped my elbow until I was steady. I stopped in the hallway, looking back at them.

Bear was still looking at the carpet, but he sent me a glance and a small, forced smile. Tiger kept looking out the window, his shoulders low, contrasting with his tense features. Lion was looking right at me. Strong and thoughtful. He gave me a nod, encouraging me to go lie down as they discussed my future.

"Thanks," I whispered softly. I wasn't sure if anyone but Lion knew I'd said it.

I didn't wait for a response.

"Should we leave him alone?" I heard Bear ask softly after I'd pushed the door closed, leaving it the slightest bit ajar. He sounded uncertain.

"The windows don't open, and I want him to rest," Lion said, matching his volume. "We need to figure out…what to do. I think this is a lot bigger than we thought."

"We're not abandoning him, though," Bear said pointedly, a sliver of disbelief worming its way into his voice.

"No," Lion said. "Of course not. We just need to be careful about how we proceed."

"Oh, come off it," Tiger said, and he was louder than the others. I flinched, closing my eyes and leaning my forehead against the doorjamb, listening with my ear pressed to the small gap. "Careful? Kid's got bloody terrorists after him. We can't do careful."

Lion said something about him calming down, but I eased the door shut.

Bear was right. They weren't abandoning me, but I was abandoning them.

I scribbled an apology and a few words of gratitude on a paper and put it on the bed next to my bag, looking around the room.

It had been a bubble of security and comfort. It wasn't mine, but I was…still sad to leave it.

I went through my bag and took out my pictures, leaving the bag itself and the rest of its contents, save some spare change in case I needed to make any calls, and my knife and gun. I wouldn't need the rest of it.

I eased open the window I'd previously cut open, sardonically happy at the coincidence. The fire escape was two windows over, so I shimmied along the ledges until I reached it, stepping down the rickety old thing as quietly as I could, dropping the last ten feet to the ground. I landed in a crouch, sent one last look at the open window, and ran.

It didn't take long for them to find me.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the people I'd reluctantly hoped for.

It had long since fallen dark, so I wandered the shadowed alleyways and backstreets, stopping each time my emotions threatened to overwhelm me. Finally, I made myself stop, and breathe, and assess.

Now wasn't the time to let things go to hell. I'd let myself break down in the flat, where I was safe. Now, I was exposed, and vulnerable. I couldn't afford to let my emotions get the better of me just yet.

I took a breath, pushing everything to the back of my mind, and continued on.

The assassin found me a few minutes later, when I was about a hundred meters away from Cookham Bridge.

I knew they would. I'd been sticking to empty, poorly lit streets with the intention of doing so. I had a plan to—to end it, like I'd thought, but I wasn't going to bloody well leave the assassin hanging around L-Unit, either. I'd take them with me if it was the last thing I did.

And if it was…that was alright. Not ideal, but alright.

A strange sense of morbid contentment slipped over my the longer I walked, the more I thought about it. I'd been struggling for so long, and now that I knew it wouldn't last…well, what use did I have for a future?

It hurt to consider, and it made me feel weak. I couldn't even imagine the incredulous look Ian would give me. The biting words Sabina would have for me for even considering the fact. The horrorstruck eyes and trembling hands Jack would have.

But they weren't there.

Suddenly, the assassin was.

They leapt from the shadows on my right, where I'd spotted them from down the street. Perhaps they knew they were being watched, and knew that I'd anticipate a bullet, so they waited. I slid my knife out from the sleeve of my hoodie, meeting theirs with a dull clang that reverberated throughout the silent street.

A passionate determination fueled my movements. I had no motivation to live, and I was no longer hellbent on survival, but I was absolutely determined to keep this shadowy reaper away from the people I'd come to value.

The assassin took a clinical swipe at my injured arm. I knew I couldn't deflect with the strength I had on that side, so I dodged, trying to return with a roundhouse kick that was quickly pushed aside. The swiped at me again, and I dodged, and they blocked.

The assassin was quite good at keeping me on the defensive, I realized. After a moment of trying to analyze their pattern by the cool sweat gathering on my clammy skin, I realized they were using my weakness to their advantage, playing the long game. They knew I wasn't nearly recovered enough to last in a long fight, and they were banking on that fact.

I had to finish this quickly, then.

I was almost decapitated as I took the energy to think instead of react, the blade whishing in front of my face close enough to brush through my bangs. I danced backwards, recalibrating, breathing heavily.

"It does not have to be painful, or long," the voice said, I realized it was a man. Their face was completely covered, and their body was clad in dark, flexible fabric. The voice was accented. Eastern Europe, maybe.

"I'm not letting you hurt them," I said, raising my knife. My arm hadn't hurt in a long time, but it ached now, and I felt the uncharacteristically deep fatigue throb in my bones.

"I have no orders for them, unless they protect you," he said. "Once you are dead, my assignment ends. Make this easy, copil." (1)

"I don't particularly feel like helping you do your job, thank you."

I knew he was probably telling the truth. Contract killers usually didn't take pleasure in their work, and most of them were surprisingly honest. Yassen was good proof of that.

But I also knew that unless I couldn't help it, I wanted to go out on my own terms. With time to grieve a hopeless future and myself and my family.

I raised my knife, crouching into a defensive position.

The man might've sighed. I didn't have time to ponder it as he sprang forward again.

He was very skilled, and had I not been keeping up with my karate exercises when I had time and felt strong enough, I probably would've been sliced to ribbons in seconds. As it was I was nicked several times, but they were all shallow cuts. At least I gave him a few, too.

The assassin was getting more frustrated the longer we went on—that much I could tell. Unfortunately, I was getting weaker, too.

I finally came to a head when I stumbled over a loose rock on the sidewalk, shattering my balance for a split second before I found my footing. However, he was a professional, and it was enough.

I cried out in pain as the knife plunged through my hoodie and across my side, clutching it instinctively as I stumbled back, glancing dizzily down. The darkness and the black fabric hid the blood, but I could feel it pounding steadily through my fingers. It wasn't serious, but it would be soon.

As long as I could end this, it wouldn't matter, but I couldn't let it cost me this fight.

I glanced up, breathing heavily, trying to push aside the pain.

"Let me save you the trouble," I said on a gamble, hoping he took the bait, even knowing he probably wouldn't. "I'm on my way to throw myself off Cookham Bridge, so you're expending a lot of energy for nothing."

Despite the witty phrasing, saying the words was a sharp blow to my psyche, and I hoped the darkness hid how I faltered.

It was…really a thought. Really something I intended to do.

I was going to commit suicide.

The taboo word left an uncomfortable buzz in my mind, self-preservation and stubborn hope warring with depression and the practicality of my situation. I didn't have much time to ponder, though.

The man had stilled in front of me, and though I couldn't see his expression, I could see the questions in his stance.

"This is…not a situation I have come across before," he said slowly.

I scoffed, panting, pain scratching at my side with icy claws. "I wouldn't think so."

After a few seconds of hesitation, I saw his stance tighten, and my heart dropped. "Unfortunately, I cannot take you at your word. If you are so quick to die, let me end it quickly, here."

"No. I'm finishing this myself."

The man didn't hesitate again, rather threw himself back into the fight, dragging me with him.

The injury and the fatigue were both constant throngs of vulnerability, now, and I took more hits and more cuts than I would've liked to admit. He slammed the back of his fist into my cheekbone, and I stumbled back, reflexively ducking as he aimed a kick at my head. I got lucky, kicking out at his unprotected ankle, and he grunted in pain.

He recovered quickly, clinically, but it was enough time for my to rake my knife across his chest. It was a shallow cut, but it forced him to back up and regroup.

I panted, and suddenly, the world was a dizzying hurricane of colors. I looked down at the teetering ground, stumbling like a drunk in a bar to slam into the brick wall. I looked down and around the alley, taking in the writhing splotches of red dancing in my swaying vision. I'd lost more blood than I thought.

I gasped in a shallow breath, my knees shaking beneath me.

I barely had time to think before I was flat on my back in the dingy alley, my knife skittering across the cobblestones as I struggled to breathe. A hand wrapped around my throat, and my chest was crushed with the weight of someone's body, and one of my arms were pinned.

I wheezed thinly, opening my eyes to stare at my attacker's shrouded face.

"Nascentes morimur," he said quietly, almost comfortingly, as his face blurred above me. "Pulvis et umbra sumus." (2, 3)

I blinked heavily, trying to will strength into my free arm to fight back. The soles of my shoes weakly slid on the damp stones, but I had no traction. I had no strength. I had a fraying thread of will. I had little left to give.

I wheezed again, tears gathering in my eyes.

One last task, and I couldn't even do it right.

"D-did…did you send…the letter…?" I croaked out, both buying time and hoping to die with the knowledge that there weren't two mysterious unknowns stalking my unit.

After a hesitant second, he nodded. "I did. My aim was to draw you out. I apologize for the crude method."

A choked laugh bubbled in my gut. An assassin with remorse. How novel.

His moves were clinical and detached, but his words made him sound empathetic. Maybe he was loathe to killing a child. Yassen didn't kill kids. I wondered if that was a common code among contract killers.

Obviously it didn't extend to all of them.

"I hope you find peace," he said at last, flipping the knife around in his hand, readying his arm to bring it down into my prone body as I gasped, my vision blurred with tears of pain. "Take comfort. You leave behind a world of sorrow."

In a final act of willful stubbornness, I finally got my hand around the gun in my pocket, clicking off the safety and pointing it up.

"You first," I rasped.

I fired three shots blindly, feeling the bullets tear through the pocket of my jacket, the barrel burning my thigh through my pants. One bullet tore uselessly into the vest under his clothes, but another hit his shoulder, and another hit his neck.

The gunshots shattered the quiet night, and I heard dogs barking in response, but it was otherwise quiet. The assassin above me was still for a surreal second, even as blood pumped from his wounds.

The knife clattered from his hand onto the stone, and he put a shaking hand to his throat, a horrible, guttural wheezing crackling from his lips. I shifted, trying to throw him off, and he toppled sideways onto his back, blood pooling around his neck and shoulder.

My gut twisted. I wondered if I'd be punished for this, after I died.

I took a deep breath now that his weight was gone, coughing in pain and discomfort, rubbing my throat. I sat up slowly, the world tilting like a drunken funhouse around me, and clumsily sent his knife spiraling away from him.

I knelt beside him, trying to get my bearings back. "You attacked first," I said finally, watching the life bleed from his eyes, now the only part of his face I could see clearly. They were green, and wide. They looked the tiniest bit afraid. "But I'm sorry."

I left the weak apology at that, stumbling to my feet, feeling unfounded guilt nearly cripple me as I left him to bleed out. I staggered to the mouth of the alley, my bloody hand trailing the brick wall in search of support. I barely had energy to put one foot before the other. My gun dangled loosely in my grip.

Another gunshot sounded, and pain tore through my thigh. I screamed in agony as I collapsed onto my knees, whirling around to see his gun, that I'd so conveniently forgotten about in my fatigue and confusion, shaking in his hand.

I closed my eyes and cursed SCORPIA for their training, and shot him in the head.

I opened my eyes, hesitantly, to see him lying dead. The gun was limp in his hand. Blood pooled around his skull.

I let my gun fall. I didn't want to go with a thing like that in my hand.

Fire burned in my leg, but I knew immediately that it wasn't a bad wound. A through and through. I didn't bother to stop the bleeding. What was the point?

I dragged myself up, cold shock numbing the wound enough for me to stagger towards Cookham Bridge.

Dogs were still barking, and I wondered if people were calling the police. I'd have to be quick, then. Or maybe they wouldn't go further than the source of the shots. Maybe.

I staggered down the sidewalk, my blood dripping onto the stones as I dragged my leg beneath me and held my side, blood slipping between my fingers. I swiped a hand under my nose, and that was bleeding, too.

My quiet, short pants echoed in the still night, and through my wavering vision, I watched the water as I walked.

I'd been through a lot of awful things in water, but I also had so many good memories, as well. Jack taking me to the beach, or the lake, to wade around and laugh and be. Ian and I spending days at the lake with her, or by the river fishing, or SCUBA diving, or snorkeling. Tom and I exploring the streams in the forests outside London, splashing around like carefree kids.

I coughed, stumbling, but continued on.

Tom. Tom. I wondered if he'd ever know.

Like a stupid twist of cruel fate, I paused in front of a payphone.

I looked around, smiling slightly. I had the strength, and the time. I hadn't spoken to Tom in so long, and…and he was about to be rid of me, anyhow.

With trembling fingers, barely managing to hold on to the change, I slid it into the payphone. I punched in his number, thumbprints of blood perverting the innocent keypad, and waited.

He was probably asleep. I hoped I could leave a message.

To my surprise, though, he answered.

"H'llo?" His groggy voice said, and my heart twisted painfully. "Who's this?"

I took a shaky, disbelieving breath, and laughed quietly.

"Look, if this is a prank call at one in the bloody morning—"

"Hi, Tom," I croaked, leaning against the glass door of the booth as fatigue washed over me.

There was a crackle of static for a few seconds that seemed to stretch, and it was almost easy to imagine his confused face, his disbelieving blue eyes widening in realization.

"Alex?"

"Hi," I said again, closing my eyes. My legs shook. I should hurry.

"Oh, my God," Tom said, and I heard frantic rustling, some banging. He was scrambling out of bed, I was sure. "Alex. Oh my God. I haven't—I haven't heard from you in—in months. Are you okay? Where are you? Why didn't you—why didn't you call me?"

I smiled, eyes still closed, and wished I could see him again. I missed him. "Sorry. I…I d-don't have long." I took a shaky breath. "I'm hurt…pretty bad. Just…calling to…I dunno. I missed you."

I heard Tom still, his familiar look of panic quite easy to picture. "Alex? Please tell me you're going to be okay. I'll fly out to wherever you are. Are you in London? I'll come to London. Seriously. Jerry, shut up, just—please tell me where you are and who you're with."

"Cookham," I said quietly, hearing the warning beep of the payphone. I only had half a minute left. "With an…an SAS unit. I d-don't…have long. Just…th-thanks, Tom. You were…an awesome mate."

"No, please don't, don't say goodbye like that," Tom said, fear coloring his voice as panic lowered his volume. "Please, Al. Seriously, don't do this. Come on, man, not—not like this, okay? I'm coming. I'm coming to Cookham, I swear, so tell me—"

"Bye," I said. I tried to hang up the phone, but it slipped from my bloody fingers. The cord pulled taut, and it swung slightly. I heard Tom shouting through the receptor until the call cut off.

I stumbled to the bridge, working my way to the center, my head light and my body throbbing.

I swayed, grabbing the railing with my free hand, but it wasn't enough. I collapsed onto my knees on the bridge, feeling my body list to the right, against the solid fence. I opened my heavy eyes, wishing the fence were mesh so I could watch the water, but all I could do was listen.

With bloody fingers, I took out the photos from my pocket and clumsily leafed through them, letting my head thunk quietly against the metal wall.

I wondered if Dad ever thought about ending it, before he met Mum. After all, he saw the same things I did. Was Mum the reason he stayed? Or was he just stronger than me?

I wondered how Mum felt, marrying an MI6 operative. Was she scared? Impressed? Proud?

I wondered how Ian felt about having to take me in. I knew he hadn't wanted kids, but he'd been…a really good guardian, before I'd found out all the secrets he kept. Before he'd left me to MI6 like a piece of furniture to a distant cousin. I wondered if this was what he'd intended. I liked to believe it wasn't, but a traitorous part of me wondered. Still, I wondered if he'd be proud of me.

I wondered if Yassen regretted dying for me now that I was about to finish the job myself. I wondered if he was disappointed, or if he understood. Of all of the people in my pictures, he seemed like the only one who might understand. I wondered if he'd give me a terse nod and walk away, letting me complete my task.

My eyes clouded with tears. I wondered if Jack regretted loving me. It had cost her everything.

I wondered the same thing about Sabina.

I put the pictures in a neat stack carefully by the wall, weighting them down with a loose rock. It was a stupid suicide note, but it was all I had.

That finished, I tried to muster the strength to stand, but none came.

I let my eyes closing my eyes in disappointed defeat. Maybe this was better. If I jumped, the fall wouldn't kill me—it probably wouldn't even hurt. It wasn't very high. I'd have to make myself drown, and I didn't like the thought of it.

I think I might have been unable to do it, anyways. I honestly couldn't say one way or the other if I'd have had the strength to end my own life.

Perhaps this was alright. It was the middle of the night—no one would find me here. I could feel the life ebbing away from the gunshot wound, the cut on my side, the fatigue in my bones, the cuts around my body. I could feel it seeping out because I wanted it to.

Well, maybe not. But it was better this way. I didn't have to make it happen, now. Just…let it.

I let my eyes flutter closed after taking a moment to keep them stubbornly open, trying to let myself experience the world one more time. If God was there, He was being merciful tonight—it was a full moon. It was really nice to see, too.

I hoped the person who found my body would be alright to handle it. I hoped it wasn't a kid, or a parent. I hoped it was…a doctor, or a soldier, or a constable. I prayed it wasn't L-Unit.

I smiled a little, feeling myself fade as my eyes finally closed.

L-Unit. Maybe it would be okay to think of them as family just this once. Before I didn't get the chance to again.

They were an awesome family. I wished I had a picture with them for the pile.

I let my hands fall, and my eyes fall, and my heart slow. I hoped wherever I was going was better, that the assassin's final words were true. I hoped that they wouldn't blame themselves.

I hoped MI6 would learn from their mistakes, and SCORPIA would crumble in the future.

I exhaled slowly, and let the darkness ebb in.

The last things I heard were the gentle rippling of the water, my slowing heart in my ears, and the distant hallucination of someone calling my name.

1: Child, in Romanian

2: "From the moment we are born, we begin to die" in Latin [uncredited]

3: "We are dust and shadow" in Latin [Horace]

A/N: Oh my God. I…don't know what just happened.

Honest to God, even I'm mad at myself for ending it there. Never fear! The next chapter is already started. But yeah. That was mean.

No more promises. I don't know what's going to happen from now on. I was just like "hey wow that note happened now I'm going to magically make K-Unit appear to help them deal with". That was the plan. When my hands started typing, the plan dissolved, and now the story has me firmly by the ponytail and is dragging me along. I don't know what's going to happen. Honestly. K-Unit is coming SOON. I'm 99% sure next chapter. We'll say that. Very soon. I'm so sorry, I know you were excited. All I can do is keep apologizing and write fast.

Anyways, well…I really hope you liked it anyway. Darker than usual, but our poor bean was in a dark place. Let me know what you thought :)

Reviews! I LOVE YOU!: Cortanacordeliacarstairs, Riderkitty, Beebotwriter, otterpineapple06, Padfoot's Marauder, Guest, Fangirl all da way, Weirdo, KingofCamelot, reginamare, Em0Wolf, Guest, AlexRiderFan, Ichigo1217, and Guest!

Cortanacordeliacarstairs: Aw thank you so much! Haha sorryyyyy. Thanks!

Guest (soooooo while you're on an updating kick)…: hahaha hope this was fast enough for you XD

Weirdo: Hahaha I know he's so sweet. And yeah, they suck! And…I'm so so so so so so sorry that they didn't come this time. Sorry. Hope you liked it anyways X'D

Reginamare: Oh, hon. I bet you hate me. I love Elliot XD I wish I could use him more but…ya know. I'M SORRY! Next chapter! SHERLOCKKKKKK

Em0Wolf: Thanks so much! Hahaha I'm glad!

Guest (love it!): Thanks!

AlexRiderFan: Aw I'm so glad! Omg you're so sweet thank you so such an amazing, genuine compliment! Thank YOU!

Guest (Please update soon…): …so sorry again. No K-Unit. Soon! Hope you enjoyed anyways :)

Thank you guys so much for sticking with me, and if you need support, I urge you to seek it. You are valued, and enough. My PMs are open if you ever need to talk :)