Ever since he was a boy, he'd loved the smell of gunpowder, it reminded him of home. Kincade taking him hunting as a boy, teaching him how to line up a shot, how take his first life. The rifle had been so heavy in his hands, he was just fourteen. The kickback almost knocked him over backwards, but Kincade had steadied him. He barely felt the ache of the area on his shoulder and chest where there would be a new bruise, all his eyes could take in was the twitching body of the young female deer lying there, bleeding out.
"Good shot boy, but we're not quite done here. We need to end her suffering," Kincade said to him, walking him over to the body. He remembered that he hesitated, looking into the eyes of that deer, seeing for the first time, but not the last, the eyes of of a living being on the brink of death.
Kincade placed the knife in his hand, and nodded to him. A young boy, taking his first step into a part of manhood he may not have been ready for. I knife to a throat, a small mercy.
Here James stood now, a deer, wounded fatally, no way out. However, as he looked out at the setting sun bringing on the bright pink and orange hue dying the clouds, he didn't feel fear, or anger. Half of him felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. He wanted to hold his daughter, tell her he loved her, cook her one more meal, have a kiss goodbye, anything. All of the missed first experiences he wouldn't get to see her go through. First day of school, first tooth lost, first Christmas together, first partner she would bring home, wedding, grandchildren. All of it, he'd miss. Even Madeline. His sweet beautiful Madeline. James would never get to marry her, kiss her sweet smelling skin, or smell the scent of the lavender from her shampoo, or grow old with her.
However, this was only half of him, the half that wanted to pity himself. But the other half, the other half felt nothing but love. It was such a strange thing. Love. In a moment where everything was taken from him, all the moments that he could have had, all the time in the world, but instead of anger or bitterness, love was all that was left. Love for those who he'd lost, like M, Lighter, and Vesper, and those he'd found along the way, like Q, Moneypenny, Mallory, and of course Madeline and Matilde. Them most of all.
Listening to her voice, telling her in only so many words that he knew Matilde was his, he knew that she always would be. The missiles were almost there, arching through the sky like falling stars.
James ran his hand over the stuffed animal, gripping its little paw, thinking, hoping, that if there was some kind of life after death, he'd still be able to see all those firsts. All the things he'd miss, wouldn't really be missed, he'd be able to be there.
Closing his eyes, he felt the heat of oncoming death on his face, and welcomed it. He wasn't a deer, dying in the woods, suffering at the hands of one man's choice, Lyutsifer Safin's choice.
He was going out without rage in his heart, now all he could feel was love.