19. red

Later, you think you might have actually felt the flash-bang that ended Billy's life.

Not in the same way he did. That would be stupid and selfish of you, and you'll have enough of those emotions tied up with Billy as it is.

No, you'll remember that awful bang and Billy surprised cry as something you felt reaching inside you and twisting. But that's later.

Billy is gasping when you reach him, just a little. Frantically, you pat your hands over the front of his chest, looking for where the damage was done, hoping that your hands can stop the red swell that's starting on his shirt. You find the hole quickly, and it is so very small. Strange that.

You realize you're crying absently, as an afterthought to everything that is going on. You're focused on Billy, on keeping your hands over that tiny hole and hoping against everything that the medics will make it in time.

They don't.

You watch his eyes dim and go glassy in the soft light. There is blood on your dress and on your face and in your hair. It's not all his - Lee is still quietly bleeding behind you - but a lot of it is. Red and sticky and already starting to dry.

You are sobbing and beating at Billy's cooling chest, insensate in a way where you are totally aware of the chaos around you. Marines and yelling and bustling of life. You know this is your fault. No, it wasn't you who handed these people guns. But you'd found this boy lacking. Not told him about it.

He died a hero for you. Just to prove that he could. Or maybe because he'd always been one and you hadn't seen it.

And it's no use. He's dead under you, you know that as you slump forward trying to kiss him awake. His eyelids, his face, his lips. They are all slack under your lips.

Suddenly, there are arms around you, lifting you away. You go into them easily because you really, really don't want to be here anymore. You don't want to stare at Billy's beautiful, still face, and you sure as gods don't want to lock eyes with the President.

You need to leave. You need to stand on your own two feet and walk out the hatch behind you. Put distance between you and the slowly growing pool of blood on the floor that used to belong to a beautiful, funny, loyal boy who looked at you and saw the moon. Never mind that you always thought you looked better in the sun.

And then you're standing on your own two feet, shoved gently towards the back of the room so that the marines and the civilians and medics can make sense of the chaos around you. They don't have time to take care of a crying little girl who's covered in blood that isn't her own.

They have to deal with the living. Just like you have to walk your ass back to the shuttle, make a report, shower, and go sit by Lee's bedside. You were on a date with him, it's only fair.

The part of you that used to sing to your nephews and dance with your mother in the rain winces at this. Mourns a little for how you've changed. For the way things have rearranged themselves inside you so that you can sleep at night.

Too much gone now to dwell on a new loss. Maybe it's selfish and terrible, but this brand new world is pretty frakking terrible all on its own.

Maybe, you think as you take the first few shaky steps away from that terrible room and Billy's body, you just have to do what you have been doing. Take what's here. Move on.

No one sees you clinging to that frakking stupid debate ring. No one even knows to look.