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Benvolio dropped his friend when he found an alleyway, away from it all.

"Doth it pain thee?" Benvolio asked, laying Mercutio down.

"Art thou simple?" Mercutio snapped, and then yelped in pain and clutched his wound. The blood had stained him. Benvolio, with light hands, attempted to lift off his friends clothes and expose Mercutio's stomach.

"Do not touch it," Mercutio mumbled. "Thou canst not guess how it hurteth."

"I can," said Benvolio. "I know it must pain thee. Peace, Mercutio, everything shall turn out well." Benvolio did not believe himself.

"Ah, thou liest," Mercutio said. "It is not thy stomach wounded. Thou hast no love who thou hast let down and shamed. Allegra will cry when I am dead." He growled. "Why now? Why now?"

Benvolio almost felt as though he would vomit. "Cry she will, friend," he gulped.

Mercutio's face softened. "O, hell, why must this happen now? I had planned to ask for Allegra's hand. We had years ahead of us -"

"MercutioAllegraisgoingtohaveababy," Benvolio, finding a street to stare down so his eyes did not meet with Mercutio's.

Mercutio's face was blank. "What didst thou say?"

Benvolio tightened his muscles, fighting back tears. "Thou hast heard me."

"Nay, I did not hear thee," Mercutio said. "I heard -" He spoke in gibberish.

"Waste not thy breath," Benvolio said, biding his last chance farewell. "Thou hast not much le -"

"O, God! O, God, no!"

Benvolio and Mercutio turned. Allegra, her face purely white, stood behind Benvolio with her hands covering her mouth. Her scream made Benvolio's holding back tears a great deal harder. She fell on her knees beside them. Her speech was lost in horrified bursts of squeals, but when she was done, she was silent, and her eyes were wide as lemons.

"Allegra -" Benvolio tried, but was cut off.

"Benvolio, how?" Allegra wailed.

Benvolio did not answer. He looked from Mercutio to Allegra and took off down the street, back to the plaza.

Mercutio had been silently trying to nurse his wound alone, and looked ashamed. When Allegra looked at him, he let his eyes meet with her's for only a moment before looking away again.

"Oh, I pray thee, be not ashamed," Allegra said, gingerly touching Mercutio's arm.

"Allegra, I am!" Mercutio said. "I have failed thee. I have failed everybody."

"Thou hast not failed everybody." Allegra was on the verge of tears. "I wish thou wouldst not say that. O God, how did this happen?"

"Tybalt," Mercutio said.

Allegra could not believe it, but said nothing of it. "Art thou pained?"

Mercutio could no longer hold onto pride. He looked into that face of the one he loved more than he loved himself, and told her the truth. "Ay, Allegra. I am pained."

"What can I do?" she said. "I will -"

He cut her off. "I would like for thee to do this."

Allegra waited. Mercutio was pained every time he breathed. He reached up and grabbed her hand, and caressed it as he spoke. "One: when I am dead, do not wear black. 'Twill not heal thee. 'Twill not call attention to anything but the fact that I am dead." He stopped. His pain was slightly healed when he saw her eyes. "Wear green, I ask thee. Thy eyes are meant to be brought out, not hidden in a shadow." Suddenly, he looked pained and clutched his wound.

"Speak no more if it paineth thee," Allegra said, holding his hand and taking in his soft touch, knowing it was one of the last touches she would ever feel from him.

"Nay," he said. He forced the words out. That was him, her hero, how he had always been; her heart throbbed harder than ever as he continued to push out the words.

"Two," he said, "go to Venice. Benvolio hath told me he shall go, 'tis his wish to flee Verona. He shall bring thee there." Mercutio ran out of breath. "Rub it," he said of his wound, "pray."

Allegra took one shaking hand and rubbed Mercutio's bleeding stomach. Even in dying pain, he was a vision of wonder, like a broken piece of stained glass, a fallen warrior, the river after rain.

"Three." Mercutio laid his weakening hand on her's. "Do not cry for me. A wound cannot compare with thy tears." He winced. "Hurts."

She could not help it. Tears glazed her face. He gathered his strength and wiped them away.

"Four: Allegra, my love, never forget .... me," he panted. "Death is a simple thing. A dying man ... he hurteth for awhile, then is taken to Heaven. I die now....and 'twill be quick. I leave here my love for thee." He sighed. "I never will leave thee. No foolish thing like death should ever hope to stop me." This next breath, if he was not so strong, might have been his last.

"Mercutio," Allegra whispered. This was her only chance.

"Allegra." He loved her name more than he ever had as he said it now.

Allegra could hold it in no longer.

"Mercutio, I am going to have a baby."

The beats in Mercutio's heart sped up. "My baby?" he asked, the world before him brightening. An idea like this, what was better than this? Mercutio would now call himself the father of a child. Then a dark thought pressed against him, and the pain burned him.

"My baby...never shall know me..."

Allerga's sob pinched him inside. He could not see his own hand, but he touched her. He touched it. It was his own, poor child. Allegra was warm.

"Ah, Mercutio," she breathed through all her weeping.

"I love thee," he whispered. "F-five: Kiss me?"

Allerga did. It was as new and warm and exciting as it had been the first time, and when it was over, she laid his head down on the cobblestone, stroking his unruly hair and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He still breathed, though his breaths were shaking and pained. He was not yet dead, but Allegra could not look too closely. She trembled. She could not open her mouth, for surely she would vomit. His flesh was icy on her hands.

It shall not be long now, she thought. He is going quickly.

She kissed his stomach gently. He groaned, but not in pain. His eyes were still closed. He was exactly how he had been the first night she had spent with him, but he was clothed and bleeding, and her throbbing, heavy affection felt colder, as it was mixed with pity. He still touched her, but he did not know it. He loved her blindly, and Allegra was never more in love with him than she was now.

She cried harder yet, and she gently lay her head on his stomach. After what seemed like an entire day in that position, Benvolio ran back.

"Tybalt...is....dead...and...."

Allegra sat up, and Benvolio saw the tears in her eyes.

"Tybalt is dead, Allegra," he almost whispered. "Romeo hath slain Tybalt. Tybalt is dead." He cringed. "Romeo is banished."

He went on about that for awhile. Allegra was not interested. Soon, Benvolio knelt beside Mercutio.

"Rest in peace," he whispered. "My - my - friend -" He clutched Allegra by the shoulder. He used her touch to hold himself up, to keep from weeping. Allegra wished he would just weep, not try to be brave. Allegra could not find her own bravery.

"When?" Benvolio muttered. before Allegra could ask what he meant, he went on. "When did he. . ."

She had been afraid to check. Mercutio still looked as though he was asleep.

"Doth he breath?" Allegra asked.

Benvolio, still holding back tears, gently put his hand to Mercutio's heart. He kept it there, then moved it away as though he had been burnt.

"What?" Allerga said.

"I feel it," said Benvolio.

Allegra stared. "Feel what?"

"He liveth," Benvolio said. "He is not dead."

"Will he not die soon?" Allegra asked.

Benvolio felt Mercutio's heart. It still beat. "If he is not yet dead, perhaps 'tis not ..."

"'Tis not what?" Allegra asked, her voice clearing up.

Benvolio looked at her. "Perhaps 'tis not as deep as we had thought."

Allegra gaped.

"Fetch someone," Benvolio said urgently.

"Who?"

"Anyone!" Benvolio cried. "Tell someone there is a kinsman of the - tell Bruna!" Benvolio demanded. "Mercutio's house is just beyond the plaza. Go! Get thee to Bruna!"

Allegra nodded and took off through the empty plaza, almost tripping through her speed.

Benvolio realized his lips were chapped. He whispered his best friend's name, feeling light and warmth on him from the sky down to his insides.

"Ben," Mercutio said. Benvolio had not expected him to answer. He was sorry for every time he had told Mercutio to be quiet or said Mercutio had annoyed him. Benvolio loved the sound of Mercutio's voice, however tired and weak it was now.

"Ay," Benvolio said in a hushed tone, "I am here."

Mercutio's eyes were still closed. "Allegra is with child," he whispered.

"Ay, Mercutio," Benvolio said, feeling himself tear up. "Thou shalt be a father."

"Will we still go to Ven - Ven -"

"Venice, yes. Rest thy voice. Thou shalt go to Venice, and I will go, and Allegra will go, and she will have the child there."

"The King of Cats..." Mercutio heaved.

Benvolio had to smile. "Dead. Worms' meat. Romeo hath avenged thy death."

"I will not die." Mercutio's voice was thin. He opened his eyes ever so slightly. It was clear he saw Benvolio. He groggily placed his hand in the middle of his stomach, inches from the wound.

"She hath kissed me here."

"Good." Benvolio heard Mercutio's voice and not his words. "People shall come soon, and they will take thee to the hospital." Benvolio noticed now that Mercutio no longer bled. "Doth it pain thee?"

Mercutio locked his eyes with Benvolio's. "Nay."

Benvolio could no longer control himself. He had feared for his friend so it had hurt. Losing Mercutio, this joyous gentleman, would kill Benvolio as well. Benvolio took a sharp rock from the ground and cut his own hand. Mercutio was too delirious to stop him. Benvolio pressed a bloody finger, with a gentle touch, onto Mercutio's wound. Mercutio, to Benvolio's extreme delight, grinned, in his typical warm way.

"Ah, Benny," Mercutio said. "We need not exchange blood to be brothers."