Heroon and Illia shared a look of trepidation, their mutual unease increasing at the perceived drop in temperature throughout the dark interrogator's office. The only light came from the accent in the ceiling, his terminals, and whatever bled through from the confinement opposite the transparent wall. Even with the sterile white furnishings, the high-security room seemed to dim as the tale dipped into something which finally brought full emotion from the pale-furred female.

It wasn’t the fact that the claimed bond was critically injured, nor that he purportedly sought to put another species before himself, but the weight in the voice of the defective sent a shiver down the brown-furred male’s spine. Her vacant expression did little to dull the shattered shards of sanity in her widened pupils, her gaze drifting off as if she was forced to view the scene for a second time, each horrid detail still haunting her.

It was so…unnerving to witness the slow awakening from her despondency, only to watch as she crumbled word by word. Just a glance at his assistant was enough to see how unsettled she was by it as well, and he was sure he didn’t appear much better. It was made worse by the defect’s faltering volume, her utterances waning until they were mere breaths given phonetic shape.

“The enemy survived the initial shot?” he prodded gently, his claw going numb from how hard he was pressing the intercom. The pale-furred female blinked, snapping out of her thoughts and staring at the dividing one-way wall with a hollow regard. Only the flicker of pain in her eyes told that she had heard him at all. He allowed her a breath to respond, though it became apparent she would need some coaxing. “By your description of the damage done and vague physiology, it would appear that such would be impossible.”

Illia furrowed her brow in skepticism now that he had pointed out a notable flaw, otherwise nodding her agreement with his conclusion. Were a Lilhun to have a hole punched through their abdomen large enough to easily fit both arms into, then it would be a medical miracle for the recipient to live long enough to notice their impending demise. Just the implication that such beings could not only survive such an event…but to retaliate despite it? That was enough to requisition a full summary of the United Military’s intel on the species of the Union, in addition to sparking a full review of the gathered reports.

…Perhaps it was enough to send a request to the…less official party investigating these matters as well. None wished to petition the Scales, but some values were worth the sacrifice.

The defective's face darkened at being dragged from her melancholy, a wince pulling at her muzzle as she tore the wound in her stomach open once more. She folded her paws atop the table and paused to think before responding, her reply coming soft but clipped. “Tell me, High Quesitar, were I not a female of your kin, but an unknown of only visually comparable form, would you be surprised to find my heart located elsewhere?”

Heroon frowned, but considered it, relenting with a short sigh. “I suppose not.”

“What if I were to have multiple, or none at all?”

He only hummed into the microphone in acquiescence, more curious than annoyed by the aside.

The STO inclined her head in agreement. “I do not know the specifics of its biology, though my assumption was much the same as your own. I saw the viscera of the alien splattered across the corridors; its foul offal permeated throughout the air. There was no doubt in my mind that my bond had disposed of his assailant. Still, I did not verify his kill, despite knowing that he was woefully inexperienced. I was…distracted by his superficial injury. I was…negligent… It was in that negligence that the enemy found weakness.”

The High Quesitar exhaled audibly, mulling over her words and the readouts before letting the critical tension bleed from his shoulders. “I understand. Apologies.”

“You understand?” Illia echoed judgmentally, subtle anger entering her inflection. His placating retort was halted by the contained one, the still-pressed intercom transmitting his assistant's tactless interruption.

“Was I unclear?” she asked, a brittle smile failing to hide how desperately she was grasping at the excuse to delay the inevitable.

Heroon’s venomous glare quieted his den-mate…

“My perplexion stems from the need to offer apols to the confined at all.”

…Or, it should have. It seemed that the beige-furred female had found an opportunity to air her grievances, and nothing short of physical intervention would stop her.

The defect deflated just a bit more, the fading facade of personability shaking her defeated voice. “I would assume my condition is the driving force behind that mentality.”

Illia’s scowl displayed her open disdain, the subtle disgust becoming blindingly obvious in her cadence. “You dare to assume my reasoning? It would be through my superior’s magnanimity that we are humouring your fictitious ramblings at all; why must he stand stiff for one of the Goddess’ loathed?”

The High Quesitar twitched, barely suppressing his irritation as he released the button. “Assistant Ques—”

Illia’s paw shot out, depressing the intercom once more, ignoring his attempt to reign her in through her building vigour.

“—You purport a bond of all things! Not only that, but with an alien! You expect us to believe that you had smuggled explosive compounds into the facility itself? Even if we were to assume they were so flagrantly inept in their screenings as to overlook it, and assuming you survived the level of excessive blood loss and stimulant abuse as stated, you have yet to produce any quantifiable evidence! Now, your supposed ‘bond’ is conveniently maimed at the height of your tale—in dramatic fashion, no less—all to serve your narrative and further these grave implications.

“This is not an accusation to be made lightly, low one. You would do well to cease your senseless babbling and submit, as those of your ilk are meant to. The results of this interrogation might very well destabilize the nascent relations which will lead us further into the stars, yet you persist in your far-fetched fantasy of espionage and unlikely allies, mentioning hallucinations and instability in the same breath as inconceivable events. Your words, defect, are delusional to an outside observer at best. I know not what you think to be listening, but if it were fools, then you have conveyed that well enough.”

Her fist banged against the table. “If this absurdity is what we are to expect from your testimony, then it is by naught but the Hunt Mother’s amusement, and our obligations, that we tolerate your drivel, for she has undoubtedly forsaken your kind. Especially if this is how you intend to garner attention. You should have disappeared from the base and remained forgotten.”

“That is enough,” he asserted more firmly.

Yet the beige-furred female ignored him, lowering her voice and pouring open hostility through her sneer. “Go on, then; regale us with what happened next. What inane fantasy will you conjure? What became of your beloved ‘bond?’”

Heroon suppressed his shock and the snarl that was pulling at his muzzle. He knew Illia was opinionated and pointlessly stubborn at times, but never would he have suspected she would shirk professionalism so blatantly, and never while carrying out her duties. Defect or not, they were explicitly tasked with taking the confined’s statement, scouring it for every detail which might concretely confirm or deny the allegations. They were ordered to by those far superior to themselves, and disobeying that order was tantamount to challenging the authority behind it. Forget the repercussions she would face if such became known; her misconduct would come back on all of those in their den.

“You. Will. Be. Silent,” he barked, his outrage making each word louder than the last. His fur stood bristled, his tail flicking in barely withheld ire. Every instinct pushed him to bring the dissident female into line. She was his responsibility, the den-pack was his responsibility, and he couldn’t allow her to beckon ruin over something so trivial.

Ignorant to the sheer scale of her folly, Illia's stunned expression morphed into defiance, her scowl broadcasting all he needed to know about how betrayed she felt by him taking the defective's ‘side.’ She was blind to what her self-righteous outburst welcomed. He would need to correct that.

His paw shot out and grabbed her by the wrist, a vicious growl ripping past his bared teeth as he wrenched her close. The beige-furred female stiffened from the forceful contact, only a token effort to free herself given before it registered that he was no longer simply requesting her compliance. Her ears folded against her head as her tail glued itself to her spine. Widened eyes stared at him with an equal mix of fear and subservience. If she was unaware of just how grievous her blunder was, he would—

“—blood…” the defect whispered, the sudden crackle of the speakers making the interrogators freeze.

Heroon exhaled slowly and loosened his grip, his glower telling the assistant that the matter was not one to be forgotten. Thankfully, she had been cowed enough to simply obey when he jabbed a claw back towards her equipment, the female quietly seating herself without further complaint, though she did so rather meekly. He put aside the subtle guilt in his chest as he did the same, turning his attention back to the transparent wall and the one contained within.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

The defect stared at the pads of her paws, her arms trembling as terror marred her visage, tears pooling in her eyes. If her previous expressions had been present, then the mind-shattering horror on display was a blinding neon sign in comparison. Her stare was unfocused, burning a hole into something lost within the past. A choked dampness strangled her voice.

“There was so much blood… I-I tried… I tried so hard to… H-he could barely walk, though he could manage as long as I assisted in supporting his weight. The third level held clinics, according to the map. It would have concoctions for his kind. My medications might have killed him. We didn't know, and it wasn’t worth the risk. I-it wasn’t far from the freight elevator… We could make it…”

He swallowed heavily. “You failed to?”

Trembling paws covered her face as she forced staccato breaths to steady herself. “T-the reinforcements found us as we approached the elevator. I needed to separate from him over and over, fending off our pursuers until we could continue. Charges bought time, but not enough—there were too many junctions to trap all of them, and he was bleeding out too quickly.

“H-he worried about me, ignoring his own pain to assess if I had been injured every time I returned. It was only my insistence that he allowed me to tear my garments and fashion a stopgap measure for his wound. He cared more for me than himself… Suffering and hurt, he still cared…”

Heroon hesitated. “…The elevator?”

Her arms dropped to her lap, any liveliness that had been gained evaporating. Her voice was cold as one of her claws skimmed over a barely sealed gash above her eye.

“They rigged the platform. I noticed, and I was adept at disabling the charges…but I had failed to consider another trap in the loading bay of the third level. We were so close, yet I missed that single explosive. It was doubtlessly the remnant of a changed order that they hadn’t bothered to move in their haste. It lacked a proper shrapnel or chemical payload, rendering it little more than a means of delivering concussive force. The tripwire wasn’t even properly set up—barely attached to the mechanism itself, really… But it was still attached. It still caught on his foot. It still only took one mistake…”

Her head hung low, her cadence weak and remorseful. “I awoke crumpled at the base of a wall. I do not know how long I was unconscious, only that he still was, and that his wound hadn't the kindness to wait…”

= = = = =

Sunundra panted heavily as she dragged Bill into the isolated clinic, staining the pure white tile with every laboured tug of his shirt and panted breath.

The bomb hadn’t been as bad as it could have been, but they still suffered for it. He was still unconscious after striking his head, though he suffered little else. She received mostly superficial scrapes and a few slivers of metal that were easy enough to dislodge once she managed to shake off the daze. If it wasn't for the crimson pooling beneath him, she might have been indignant at the pitiful excuse of a bomb. As it was, she could only struggle to drag him to their destination and hope that the few charges she left on the elevator would serve as enough of a delay for Bill to be treated.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of how long before they were found again, rather than if they would be. If she was swift, and if there were suitable materials left over, she could tend to the worst of her own injuries as well; they were starting to hamper her effectiveness.

Blood poured down her face from a gash above her left eye, blinding it before dripping onto the floor and joining the smearing crimson from the male who lay limp in her grasp. She didn’t recall what caused it, so something had likely been thrown in the blast. It didn’t matter now.

A kick slammed the clinic door closed behind them, followed by the laughably pathetic mechanical lock engaging with a click. She spat out the iron taste in her mouth and scanned the new area for what she had to work with.

An elevated platform sat in the centre of the room, likely for patients to occupy while being seen. Standing cabinets and mounted countertops lined the walls, their glass partitions separating the contents from open air and needlessly curious paws. Numerous compounds and medications lay behind locked cupboards and thick shields, labelled in various scripts, though none that she could read. She would just have to hope that smell was enough to identify what they were.

Something in here had to be of use. Something had to help. She needed it to. She was running out of time. He was running out of time.

A few more grunts and strenuous pulls brought them close enough for her to lift his unresponsive form on top of the platform. It was almost too high for her to actually do it, but there wasn’t much choice; she couldn't properly apply treatment if he remained on the floor, nor was she confident that she would be able to get back up when she was done. Her injured leg was shaking and numb, burdened far beyond what it could sustain—even if it hadn’t been pierced by a ballistic projectile and then hastily cauterized. Carrying the human male had been too much for her to handle. She wasn’t strong enough to pick herself up again, let alone lift a male twice her weight.

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But he needed her to be.

She crouched, feeling spasms in her limbs that were promptly ignored. Her arms worked into position beneath his, a deep breath shuddering down her dry throat in preparation. Never had she wished the training regime she adhered to was more intensive, yet as she steadied herself, she could already tell this was a feat of strength that would come with a heavy toll.

Mend. Quickly.

A tooth chipped under the pressure of her clenched jaw. No more wasting time. She was fine with crippling herself if it was for him. Anything for him.

One… Two… Th—

A pained cry left her muzzle as she powered through, the muscles in her stomach tearing further under the strain. She felt the gaping wound in her abdomen dampen, yet she managed to stand with her bond’s full weight in her arms. An unsteady step brought him back onto the examination table, a second push edging his legs up as well. She caught herself on the cool metal table before she could collapse to the floor, both of her legs buckling the moment they were free of the additional burden. A free paw braced against the faltering limbs to ease the strain.

Then the burst of adrenaline subsided.

A shrill shriek of agony slipped out as a suffering whine for mercy, the blinding pain swallowing the edges of her vision. Her stomach felt as if it was being mauled by the ruthless teeth of logging machinery, while her legs were consumed by localized infernos, leaving the tips of her extremities violently numb. Her consciousness wavered, threatening to tumble out of her grasp—and with it, the agony and turmoil. It promised release, even if it would cost her everything. It tempted her with seductive suggestions that her meaningless flailing in the waters of life might end. The haze was so welcoming…

No.

But she couldn’t.

Mend him. Quickly.

She tensed, a claw piercing well into the flesh of her good leg. Then two.

Distract her nervous system. Redirect the focus. It was too soon to give up. Not after how much she's been through. Keep going. Her bond needed her.

The two punctures widened as she curled her paw, a swift tug ripping open a gory seam along her thigh—too shallow to greatly impede her, but more than enough to wash out the overwhelming torture that was everything else. A sharp sting of clarity followed the new source of suffering.

Fix him. Hurry. Now.

She forced herself upright, fighting back the blackness creeping in on her as she shrugged off her bag and hastily injected herself with a cocktail of medications—from coagulants to the high dosage painkillers. A stimulant tablet quickly joined the fray, clearing the mental fog just a bit more.

Her eyes focused on Bill. His gunshot wound had been left untreated for too long. It trickled ichor at a steady rate, despite her attempt to pack the hole with fabric from her shirt. The patch had fallen out at some point. If nothing else, she needed to replace it. With what? The rest of her top was a mess of filth and caustic chemicals, while her pants were even less of a candidate. The spread of storage in the clinic should offer a suitable solution, if only until she found a way to seal it.

Sunundra lurched towards a standalone cabinet next to the rest of the wall-mounted ones, catching herself on the countertop. She tugged on handles, divots, and whatever else she could reach, frustration mounting with every attempt being denied by hidden latches.

Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked.

She growled, punching the solid glass to no avail. Panic crept up from beneath her irritation, whispering how dire her bond’s condition was.

Of course, it was all shut away; why wouldn’t it be? There was limited time before the enemy found them, and surely there was a video transmission device tucked away in one of the walls for some heinous security guard to view. This was all some sick entertainment for them, watching a defect toil meaninglessly in a struggle to save the gift she should have never had.

Her paws gripped the edge of the storage rack. Why couldn’t she open it? Why was everything trying to stop her? Why!?

Her rage manifested as a yell, the standing cabinet pulled off its axis and careening towards the ground with a bang as it crashed against the door. She grimaced at the result, reaching for the next storage. At least the blockage should stall the enemy, if only a little. Her paw pulled the nearest handle, ready for its rejection and to dismiss it.

It creaked without further protest. Unlocked.

The cupboard door slammed open, the shelves inside holding rows and rows of bottles, syringes, and capsules stored in plastic containers. All of it was swept to the floor in her search. Nothing. She switched to trying the drawers, opening the first one and finding much the same. There were more items that she had no frame of reference for, alongside strange metal tools nested amongst ones that were actually identifiable—altered variants of things she had used in the field. Forceps, scissors, surgical wire, needles, and…gauze. Her paw snapped out, clutching the last item before stumbling back to Bill. His shirt peeled wetly off his skin, the sucking hole spilling some of the pooled blood. She glanced back at the drawer and thought better of simply packing the wound again; there was no certainty of how long it would last, even if she did a better job this time. And unlike before, she had the tools to do something more thorough.

The needles, wire, and something that smelled like an antibacterial cream joined the growing pile on the table. Stitching it closed wouldn’t undo the damage, but it would stop it from worsening until they could seek proper medical treatment. She shakily threaded the fine metal line through a needle and tied it off. It was a little primitive, but it would have to do. She pinched the edges of the raw flesh together, a sense of confusion and uncertainty bubbling beneath the surface as she pierced his skin for the first of many times.

“W-where…?” Bill’s groggy question was punctuated by a sharp inhale and a raspy groan of pain, his attempt to sit up and orient himself halted by a firm paw pushing him against the cool metal surface, though it was worryingly easy to stop him. Panic swelled through the bond.

“We are safe,” she assured him. Or, she tried to. In reality, having him awake during such a concentration-demanding task complicated matters.

Whereas she was overjoyed that he was up, a dark tide flooded through her system to the point where she almost collapsed where she stood. She didn't know why, but she also didn't have the luxury of pondering it. A sense of urgency screamed in her ears.

“B-be still. We have reached the clinic, and I am tending to your wound. Forgive me, but I will be as quick as I can.”

She didn’t wait for his reply. Another stitch was met with another hiss of discomfort, but the male remained compliant as she continued.

Yet something was still…wrong. She barely noticed it at first, but a pool of dread in the back of her mind rose with each passing moment, the warning pushed aside again and again until it would be delayed no longer.

The trembling motions of her treatment allowed far too much of a lull between passes. She was slowing down to steady herself, lest her attempts cause more harm than good. Her claws felt more numbed with every passing moment. Dulled sensation crawled up her paws to her wrist, then further at a languid pace, leaving static in its wake until that too ceased. Her feet were much the same. Why did it feel harder to breathe, yet her lungs drew air without difficulty? Why did she feel cold, yet the warmth of her pads never seemed to diminish?

“—shine?”

Her mind felt clouded and slow, yet thoughts passed freely, swirling around the shadows of disconnected troubles that never were.

“—going to be okay…?”

Sunundra blinked away the tears, confused as to what had prompted them. She was treating him! They would clean the wound, patch the worst of her own afflictions, then take shelter somewhere safe to plan their next move. Why did it feel hopeless? Why was she crying?

A tug finalized the last stitch, sealing the hole beneath his rib and allowing her to apply the antibacterial cream. After that, it was just a matter of covering it, finding suitable painkillers for him, and then all would be well. She should have been relieved to see the issue dealt with, but that feeling of wrongness persisted, and it only took another moment before the subtle details nagged at her.

The numbness had spread up her arms and legs, a chilling absence of warmth slowly permeating throughout her core. Every beat of her heart felt weaker than the last, yet her self-assessment returned about as expected. Why did she feel so worn? If it was the side effect of her medications, then she could deal with it. If it was the result of her overexertion, then she would accept it with pride. Still, they needed to get going again—if not to truly escape, then at least to bide time. She ignored the oddities in her body and donned a fragile confidence as she looked at her bond…but it shattered just as quickly.

Bill’s lips were discoloured, erring towards a purplish hue. His pinkish skin had paled considerably. His eyes slowly wandered the ceiling, though never focusing, the glassy reflection of the lights having little impact on how dilated his pupils were. His chest shuddered and strained with effort for every forced breath, each being used to speak through whispers as tears of his own trailed past his temples. The fear he once withheld had grown to mar his visage with reluctance and worry, only getting worse as he choked down air with increasing difficulty.

“Bill?” She dropped the needle and metallic thread, the scissors that were about to snip the line clattering against the floor. Both of her ears pitched forward, straining to hear the raspy exhalations of aspirated words too soft for the translator to pick up. Her call for him brought a moment of lucidity in the male, his straying gaze settling on her as she stumbled closer, cursing herself for being so weakened.

“…I’m sorry,” he wheezed, his wane grin failing to stymie the flow of sorrow trickling down his skin. “I shouldn’t have believed them. I should have pushed to find out what happened when they said the section collapsed. I should have done everything I could to get to you.”

The sentiment warmed her very soul, yet it did nothing to stop the glacial cold from progressing throughout her system. It did nothing to stop the pervasive numbing that crept up her flesh. It did nothing to stop the wrongness. She pressed a paw to his cheek anyway, internally furious with the conflicting sensations, rubbing the moisture off his face with a gentle caress.

“We are together now; that is all that matters,” she assured him. She rubbed at her face to remove both blood and sadness which blurred her vision. Bill glanced at the gash above her eye with worsened guilt.

“You keep getting hurt. It’s my fault. If I had just—”

The pale-furred female silenced him with a claw, somehow keeping her trembling under control—but only just. “I would endure it a hundred more times if I might finally have the one who I desire most.”

His wet laugh drew a hoarse cough, the recovering inhale taking a moment to work.

“We must get ready to leave,” she urged as gently as she could. The primal sense of dread clawed its way up from the depths of the unknown. Pinpricks of unease sank deep into her skin. “W-we are to rescue the others, no?”

Tendrils of the Void played and taunted her from the shadows—mocking her. Why? Why was it so cold? Why had her pain faded, only to be replaced by the deadened perception of emptiness? Why did it feel like her heart was struggling to push even one more drop of blood?

Bill’s regard turned hazy, his arm lifting only the slightest amount before it thumped uselessly against the table. Regret shadowed his face, a remorseful smirk taking its place. “I… I don’t think I can.”

An unwanted nervous giggle slipped out of her, the trembling in her limbs intensifying. She got an arm under his back, trying and failing to lift him up. “O-of course you can. You wished to help them, no? We… We should hurry. I will assist you as much as you need, but you must get up first.”

“I’m sorry…”

The facade of a smile remained, but her horror showed through building dampness and manic denial in her tone, the forced laugh shaking her voice as realization hammered against the wall she placed between her and reality. He was cold. He was so, so cold. Cold enough to match the frigid ice that had replaced her warmth and numbed her senses. Cold enough to bring his ichor to the same slurry she felt coursing through her veins. His breathing sounded as if it was held by the same weight she felt pressing against her chest, crushing her very lungs.

“Bill, this is not the time for jests. You must get up. Quickly, b-before the enemy finds us.”

“You should go,” he whispered in response, the tension in his jaw belying how difficult it was for him to remain conscious. His eyes drifted and refocused, the apologetic tint becoming more prominent with every lapse. “Get help.”

The smile fell. She tried even harder to sit him upright, only marginally aware of the tearing it caused her various injuries. It was like hearing them through countless walls—muffled and indistinct—as though she was experiencing only a memory that had faded.

“This… This is far from humorous, Bill,” she warned, her shoulder giving out without telling her why. Not that it could; nothing persisted through the numbing veil now. It was all she could do to hear his voice and feel the phantom heart beside her own weaken with every pulse. It was so cold. “Y-you wished them saved! You wished to reunite with your kits as one they could take pride in!”

His eyelids fluttered, a war with exhaustion pulling them lower before being pushed open once more. The bond reflected the effect of her words, though warped and faded. The guilt and fear were overshadowed by regret and longing, his expression following suit.

Her stomach sank. Why was it so distant now? Why was it not overwhelming her?

“They made it with me barely there, Sunshine. They’ll be okay.”

“You do not believe that!”

His faltering display of reassurance crumbled at her shouted refusal, his eyes reflecting a haggard, injured, and now snivelling female, her scowl failing to compensate for her shaking form and silent weeping. She looked no different than she did so many years ago upon hearing that her den wished no more of her; hurt, inconsolable, and completely terrified of being alone.

He let out a trembling laugh, devoid of mirth and energy. “I can hope.”

“Get up,” she pleaded, grabbing his paws and holding them tight. Why couldn’t she feel his touch? “Even if we fail to save the others, we might at least reunite with your kits, no? If nothing else, you saved me. Does that not count for something? Will they not celebrate your deed?”

“I…” His voice wavered, a gasp for air proving to be barely enough. It proved harder and harder for him to speak, his lungs unable to keep up with what he wished to say. “I can’t, Sunshine. I can’t…save you. I can’t…help the others. I can’t… I can’t…”

A sob broke his false confidence, fracturing any semblance of denial she had left as she watched her bond sob between rapidly diminishing breaths.

“I can’t…see them again. I can’t see…if they’re going to…be okay. I can’t be there to…offer advice when…they have their first kid…” Her bond shunted his eyes closed, yet it did nothing to stop the flood of melancholy pooling on the table, nor her own. “I wanted… I wanted to be there. I promised her I would. I promised…I’d be there for them…”

Glassy eyes revealed themselves, his rounded pupils fixated on her, the gallows humour tinting his sardonic mirth. “I guess the pairing pass was…a waste of time, huh?”

Her ear flicked in recognition. “P-pairing?”

His slow nod bled off much of the emotion on his face. “Applied as soon as…I left. I wanted to…take you back. Have you…meet the boys.”

Sunundra choked on the nothing that spread with such slow finality, resting her head on his chest and letting the fabric of his shirt absorb her helplessness. “Why?”

Only an ember remained of the once roaring bonfire that was the bond, flickering its dimming light in defiance of the infinite darkness closing in. The steady drum that gave him life now beat too sparingly—too weakly. She could feel it herself, the grasp of the endless eternity slithering across the white tiles of their small sanctum of temporary safety. It was coming for him, hungry and merciless.

Why couldn’t she hear the static? Why not the voices? Why? Why was she so numb? Why were her lungs struggling to function? Why couldn’t she feel his influence?

She crawled atop the table, hurriedly shielding him with her body as best she could, claiming his wrist with her tail and stroking his cheek, her voice cracking as she tried to keep a soothing tone. “Bill? Why would you wish that? Why meet them? Why me?”

It didn’t matter what the response was, only that he gave one. Only that he offered just a little more. Only that he stayed.

He forced down a breath and swallowed, letting his eyes close when the struggle to keep them open became too much. “Because they'd love to meet you…and you should know…what it’s like to be around…people who care… People who love you.”

The answer knocked down any chance of preparing herself. Fragile shields crumpled, mirrors of self-deception shattered, and she was left exposed as the terrified kit she was. The pale-furred female buried herself into him, no longer caring if her voice was shrill and worn, nor if she needed to be strong.

“I do. I do, because of you. A life of rejection could never prepare me for what you offered this horrid soul so readily, nor how much I would give to keep it. Please, stay and allow this foolish female her avarice. Let her bathe in the glow of what she was never meant to have!”

One pump of the heart beneath her embrace echoed in her ears. A softened breath was pulled into his fatigued lungs, his temperature falling lower. Two pumps. A scratchy exhalation. He was so cold, but she would be his warmth. She would protect him from the Void. She would give all that she was. She would give anything and everything for just a little longer.

Three pumps…

Four…

She waited, the dread clutching her soul in its choking grasp. She could be patient. She could wait. He would be well. He must be well. He couldn’t leave her. He wasn’t ready for the bottomless abyss that awaited him if the Mother judged him unfit for her embrace. He needed her to be with him.

Yet the fifth beat was taking too long. She shot up, barely supporting her weight above him as her paw gently jostled him. “Bill? Bill, this is not the time to rest. We must leave soon; we have much to do. Bill?”

Nothing. Nothing but the stillness of her heart that still pumped blood. Nothing but paralyzed lungs that drew breath freely. Nothing but the absence of sensation that could feel the lacking pulse beneath her pads. Nothing but the deafened ears that heard her despair drip against his skin, and blinded eyes that saw the unmoving form of the one who taught her love and gave her existence meaning.

There was nothing.

“Bill, please. Please, speak… Bill!”

It was so cold. So numb. So empty. So wrong. So incomplete. So alone.

The unrelenting reality cared not for her delusions. It cared not for all of her suffering. It cared not for what she had gone through to return to him. It cared not for what she endured for even the single fragment of happiness she finally had in her paws. It cared not that she had tried to save him. It cared not for the future she held onto so desperately.

It cared not for her hope, nor her bond.

It cared not if it was broken. If she was broken.

“No… No, no, no. Bill… Wake up… Wake up!”

Yet he would never answer.

“Bill!”

Yet he would never call her his Sunshine.

“Please…”

Yet he would never hear her… But perhaps another might…

She let herself drop, holding him as tightly as she could, fervent and trembling prayer pouring from the devout who placed faith above all for so, so many years, and needed that devotion repaid now more than ever.

“O-O’Mother of this soul, your faithful wishes for forgiveness for her t-transgressions, for she has committed them in ignorance. Your faithful implores you not to have her gift stripped by the actions of another, and beseeches you to smile favourably for the one who has never strayed from the teachings. Your faithful begs for you to take pity on her and the one who she has come to cherish, and will pay any price! Y-your faithful grovels in contrition, unknowing of how she might make amends. Your faithful seeks a path to repentance, no matter the cost! Please, show mercy for this pitiful kit of yours who has been cast aside by her kin, then found acceptance from another not of her own! Please allow your faithful to atone!”

Yet there was nothing. There would never be anything again.

“O’Mother…please…”

The pale-furred female curled atop the only reason she had to live, wracking sobs and keening wails leaving her a trembling mess as she tried to give warmth to the male who was far too cold, and who she was trying so hard to keep. The one who she loved so deeply, yet had never heard her say it.

“Please, don’t take him…”

The one who was her everything.

“He’s all I have left…”

And now, she had nothing.