Everything had gone to hell so quickly. There were too many soldiers, and just not enough time. Going in they had all known that the chances of coming out of this alive were practically nonexistent, but when Peter doubled back, that had been the point of no return for Maya. She wouldn't leave this place without the man she loved. She refused. If the bomb took them both to hell, then at least they went out together.
So when the soldiers swarmed them and cut Peter off from the rest of the group, she fought her way back to him. She fought hard and dirty, and she was so close, but the bomb had other ideas. The world jumped, and everything went white hot and bright, ears ringing and dust choking her lungs for a few agonizing seconds before everything goes black.
She has no idea how long she's been out, but she comes to face down beneath a pair of dead soldiers, their bodies charred and riddled with shrapnel. Her world is swimming, she feels light-headed and dazed, and so, so tired. It's a long while before she remembers why she's even there.
Peter.
The thought sends her into a panic, and she tries to move, to work her way out from under the corpses. Pain lances through her from so many points that darkness creeps into the edges of her vision and threatens to overtake her again. She stills and focuses on breathing. Breathing hurts like fucking hell, but not as much as moving does.
Slowly, oh so slowly, she gets her right arm under her, but her left arm is numb and refuses to obey. So she's left to do an awkward combination of wriggling and an army crawl to free herself. When she does, when she finally pulls herself out from under the bodies of the men she'd been fighting, she realizes quite a few things.
It's likely she's broken more than a few bones, but the reason it hurts so much to breathe is the shard of metal sticking out of her side. She's caked in blood, some if her own, some of it not. Also, not only is her arm unresponsive, it's been torn to shreds, mangled by the explosion. What's left is charred shreds of flesh, shredded by the same shrapnel and cauterized by the same heat that got the soldiers unwittingly shielding the rest of her. Numbly, she tries to use her powers. There's a flicker of light from whatever tattoos are left, but nothing more.
Even if she was getting out of this alive, which she most certainly is not, she'd never use her powers again.
Numb to the pain of her missing limb, she yanks the shrapnel from her side with her good hand, and clamps it over the wound as she rises to her feet. The ship was going down, she knows that much. It was only a matter of time, and in that time she had to find Peter.
She catches a glimpse of the red lights of his mask through the haze of settling dust and smoke. For a moment she feels relieved until she hobbles closer and sees the state he's in.
God, is he even still alive?
She supposes it doesn't matter. They'll go down with this ship together, regardless.
For a moment she just stands there, broken remains of her left arm hanging limply at her side, taking short, pained breaths as blood seeps through the fingers over her wounded side. ]
[ His chin is tucked against his chest, eyes slipping shut as he waits for the inevitable. Try as he might, unconsciousness refuses to take him, and he sits there, limbs numb. If it weren’t for the shards pinning him to the metal wall that once encased the weapon, he would probably be flopped over, bleeding out on the deck. And of all the things to think about while he’s still half-awake, it’s that? When he could literally be thinking about anything else? Dying is pretty weird, he thinks, and he exhales softly, something like a laugh.
Or maybe he finally managed to pass out. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in his death throes and thinking of her. Wouldn’t that be nice? Because he heard her voice just then, and it’s the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe.
We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?
And it reminds him of the first time they had gotten separated like this, how panicked he was when he lost her and how terrified he was when she was hurt. It was during that shitty job that he realized how important she was to him, when he started feeling the first inklings of an emotion stronger than like.
His head tips minutely to where he imagined he heard her, and without careful watching, it would be as if he hadn’t moved at all. He doesn’t open his eyes, though, because if he opens his eyes then the dream will fade away.
When he finally gathers the energy to speak, his words slur together, and his voice is muffled by his mask, barely more than a mumble. ]
[ The sound of his voice brings tears to her eyes, and she tries furiously to blink them away. Suddenly she's back on their little shuttle, and he's blaming himself as he digs a bullet out of her shoulder. They're learning and stumbling together, tripping up in the newness of their relationship.
But later that night she falls asleep in his arms for the first time, and she knows, she knows there's no place she'd rather be. ]
Peter... [ her voice cracks, but at this point she doesn't much care. Gingerly, she kneels, reaching behind his ear to press the switch for his mask. ] My Peter. You're alive.
[ Definitely a dream, then, he decides. Because his helmet flits away, fills his ears with metallic tinkling noise as it recedes, and he wouldn't have the strength to hit the trigger himself. Definitely a dream, because otherwise that means she's here on slowly crashing ship, when she should be on the Milano and escaping and toasting to a job well done.
He manages to wrench his eyes open, though only just, and his sight is blurry and gray around the edges. But there's a flash of pale skin and something blue and, yeah, it's definitely his Maya. She's there, at least in his dreams, and how lovely, he thinks, to dream of her so he doesn't have to die alone. ]
Hey beautiful. [ He coughs wetly again, feels something warm coming down the corner of his mouth, but he can't find it in him to wipe it away. ] S'ry. Kin' of a mess righ' now.
[ She tucks her hand under his chin, wiping the small trickle of blood running from his mouth away with her thumb. As much as she can, anyway, considering the mess she is.
It's then that she leans in and presses her lips to his. He's in a bad way, and she wants him to be able to have one last kiss. He tastes like blood and smoke and dust, but he's still her Peter. Her wonderful, brave, perfect Peter. ]
I always told myself I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.
[ He tries to follow after her as she pulls away, but the grating sensation in his chest stops him. It doesn't hurt -- everything's stopped hurting for a long time now -- but the feeling is uncomfortable and makes him fall back.
He tips his head back against the metal and wills his eyes to focus, because if this is a dream, he wants to see Maya's face and this blurred mess just isn't cutting it. His sight returns by degrees, though, and he tries to blink the blurriness away, and-- ]
Oh, hell. [ He can finally see her now, can see the state of her, and his breath catches in his throat. ] Oh, fuck-- Maya--
[ So. Not a dream then, and the sluggish fog clears from his mind for the moment. And despite her reassurances, he most definitely does not feel better. ]
No-- no, can't be here.
[ Maya shouldn't be here, she should be far, far away and oh God, she's so hurt, she's bleeding and burned and broken, and she's gonna die here, she's going to die here, and they need to get her off this fucking ship.
He's struggling to free himself with what energy he has left, managing to find strength enough to wrap his hands around one of the shards protruding from his gut. He clenches his teeth, breath coming in sharp gasps. ]
[ She has more strength left in her than he does, and she puts her hand over his own, halting his movements. ]
Peter, listen to me. [ Her tone is serious, but her eyes are wet with tears, and threatening to spill over at any moment. ] We're not getting out of this.
[ His hands freeze at her touch, and for a long time he refuses to let the words sink in. He can't let her die, he won't, he has to protect her--
But there's an ominous rumbling off in the distance that jolts the whole ship -- just once, briefly, but distressing all the same -- and the grating sensation in this chest returns. He clenches his jaw until it passes.
He sees the tears in her eyes and his chest aches at the sight of it, something heavy and cold dropping in his gut. His hands fall away from the shrapnel to his lap, but he still grips her hand with his bloodied, trembling fingers. His eyes sting and water, and it's a fight to keep his focus on her, to keep himself from going back under when only seconds ago he was wishing for it. ]
We knew the risks going into this. [ she tightens the grip on his hand. The last thing she wants is for him to die regretting this. ] If this is how it has to end, know that I don't regret one moment. You've made me so happy, Peter. I don't want to live without you.
[ His eyes sting and something wet falls down his cheek, but even if he had it in him to wipe it away, that would mean letting go of Maya's hand, and that's most certainly not something he wants to do right now. There's blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision, and it's a struggle to keep it from enveloping him completely, but the pressure of her touch keeps him anchored. (Not the feel of her skin, he can't feel much of anything, really, hasn't been able to for a while.)
Another low rumble resounds somewhere else on the ship and sets the deck shaking, and Peter has so much he wants to say to her, to spill out everything, but the words won't come; they keep evading his grasp, and he has no idea how to say any of it. It's so hard to think. He doesn't know how to tell her she's his best friend; that she means so fucking much to him; that she's the smartest and most gorgeous person he's ever known; that she helped him to learn to trust and be honest again, with himself and with her; and God, why didn't he say any of this earlier, so he wouldn't have to try to do it now, when he's bled nearly dry and his insides are mess?
It takes him a half-second to realize his eyes have slipped shut and that his head is starting loll forward, but he tilts back, forces his eyelids open again. He focuses his eyes on her face and grasps her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers as tightly as he can -- which isn't very tightly at all. ]
I love you. [ It's not even a tenth of everything he wants to say, but it's all that comes to him, and he imbues it with all the meaning he can. He hopes she understands. ] I wish-- I wish we had more time.
I know. [ She tries to make it a joke, but the dam breaks and tears start flowing down her cheeks in earnest. A small, choked sob escapes her. ] I know.
[ But she understands- there's so much to say and no time to say it. He's the best thing that's ever happened to her- he's brought her so much joy that she thinks she couldn't put it into words even if she wasn't in her current state.
She would have liked, she thinks, one last dance. It's impossible now, given that they're both barely hanging on as it is. But it's nice to imagine. With whatever strength she has left in her, she moves to rest her forehead against his, and she hums quietly. It's not perfect, by any means, and the tune is occasionally interrupted by small, choked noises of pain and grief, but she knows he'll remember. It's one of his mother's songs, and the first song they ever danced to. ]
[ God, he hates seeing her cry, and he wishes he could do anything to stop it, to wipe away her tears, but it's hard enough staying conscious.
(He doesn't want to leave her alone, in the end. If they have to go, he wants them to be together, but it's getting so hard to stay awake.)
And he recognizes the song as she sings it, because of course he would, and as grief-stricken as it is, he thinks her voice is still the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. And he thinks of their first almost-kiss on the Milano, and their first awkward date and first real kiss on Xandar, and all the firsts they shared together since then.
And try as he might not to, he thinks about everything they haven't done yet, all the places he wanted to show her. And strangely, he wishes she had met Yondu, because as much tension as there was between himself and the man, Yondu was as close to a dad as he'd ever had. And he thinks Yondu would like her, in a begrudging sort of way.
He wishes they could've gone back to Terra, looked for Peter's family. He wonders if Grandpa's still alive, and he wonders, not for the first time (but it seems to be the last) if they looked for him, and he wonders what they must think happened to him. He's sorry he couldn't go back to set it straight, kept putting it off out of fear, and now it's too late. He's sorry he couldn't introduce Maya to the Quill family, sorry that he couldn't make her a Quill officially.
(Peter's not a traditional man in any sense of the word, and if someone had asked him the day he found the Infinity Stone if he ever thought things like "steady relationships" or "marriage" were a possibility for him, he would've probably laughed in their face and stolen their wallet. But it makes sense to him now, he thinks. Because Maya is the only one for him.)
He wishes for a lot of things right now. Wishes they weren't on a crashing ship, wishes that Maya wasn't here, or at least wishes he had it in him to pull a plan out of his ass to get Maya to safety, but he's spent, he's tired, and it's hard enough to keep his eyes open. He can feel his head tipping forward, even with Maya's forehead against his, and he thinks he's fighting a losing battle.
And he thinks he's crying now. At least, he thinks he feels something wet falling down his face, and it would logically follow. ]
Wish Mom could've met you. [ It's barely a murmur. ] She would've... loved you...
[ Coming from Peter Quill, there's no higher compliment. And suddenly she's so sad that she never got to meet his family, the way he had met hers. (Her adopted Pandoran family anyway, because the Order was no family at all.)
Her hand clenches around his, but she's quickly running out of the strength to stay upright. ]
[ His gaze is starting to wander, eyelids fluttering, and he thinks he hasn't got too much longer. He can barely feel the way her hand is tightening around his.
Still, he tries for a smile, just the barest twitch of the corner of his mouth, even as his eyes start drifting shut, even as his breath slows. ]
[ She knows she's losing him- it's no small wonder that he made it this far at all. It's only a matter of time for both of them, but he's gotten quite the head start.
She kisses his cheek ] Go ahead, Peter. I'll catch up.
[ He really wished they could go together, but life isn't fair, he guesses, not even in the end. But he holds onto her hand for as long as he can, until he can't feel his fingers anymore, until everything goes numb and he feels like he's floating.
He wishes they had more time, in the end, but he's glad they had time at all. At least they had each other for a while.
His fingers tighten of their own accord one last time, then his whole body slowly goes limp and his eyes close. There's still that bare hint of a smile on his face, though, and when his last breath leaves his body, it takes the form of a few last words: ]
His head lolls forward and his fingers go slack, and Maya has no more energy left to cry. She laughs instead, though it's a quiet, broken sound. ]
Yeah. Okay. Just this once, you can be Han.
[ He can't hear her- she knows he can't, but she says it all the same.
God, she's so tired. Her clothes are soaked with fresh blood- her own, leaking steadily from the open wound in her side, and she's ready. She's ready to just sleep.
She settles back against the wall where Peter's pinned, and she leans her good shoulder against his. Her eyes fall shut and she lets the exhaustion and the blood loss ease her slowly, steadily into the darkness.
Her thoughts are fleeting, flickering like the lights of a passing train. She has no idea how long she's out, but she feels herself smile when the cool, calm grip of nothing begins to take hold of her.
I'll catch up, Peter, she thinks, serene and somehow detached. Not even lions can tear us apart.
She goes limp, head dropping against Peter's still form, blue hair falling in dirtied curtains around her face. The ship continues its free fall, but there's no one left on board to witness it crash. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Everything had gone to hell so quickly. There were too many soldiers, and just not enough time. Going in they had all known that the chances of coming out of this alive were practically nonexistent, but when Peter doubled back, that had been the point of no return for Maya. She wouldn't leave this place without the man she loved. She refused. If the bomb took them both to hell, then at least they went out together.
So when the soldiers swarmed them and cut Peter off from the rest of the group, she fought her way back to him. She fought hard and dirty, and she was so close, but the bomb had other ideas. The world jumped, and everything went white hot and bright, ears ringing and dust choking her lungs for a few agonizing seconds before everything goes black.
She has no idea how long she's been out, but she comes to face down beneath a pair of dead soldiers, their bodies charred and riddled with shrapnel. Her world is swimming, she feels light-headed and dazed, and so, so tired. It's a long while before she remembers why she's even there.
Peter.
The thought sends her into a panic, and she tries to move, to work her way out from under the corpses. Pain lances through her from so many points that darkness creeps into the edges of her vision and threatens to overtake her again. She stills and focuses on breathing. Breathing hurts like fucking hell, but not as much as moving does.
Slowly, oh so slowly, she gets her right arm under her, but her left arm is numb and refuses to obey. So she's left to do an awkward combination of wriggling and an army crawl to free herself. When she does, when she finally pulls herself out from under the bodies of the men she'd been fighting, she realizes quite a few things.
It's likely she's broken more than a few bones, but the reason it hurts so much to breathe is the shard of metal sticking out of her side. She's caked in blood, some if her own, some of it not. Also, not only is her arm unresponsive, it's been torn to shreds, mangled by the explosion. What's left is charred shreds of flesh, shredded by the same shrapnel and cauterized by the same heat that got the soldiers unwittingly shielding the rest of her. Numbly, she tries to use her powers. There's a flicker of light from whatever tattoos are left, but nothing more.
Even if she was getting out of this alive, which she most certainly is not, she'd never use her powers again.
Numb to the pain of her missing limb, she yanks the shrapnel from her side with her good hand, and clamps it over the wound as she rises to her feet. The ship was going down, she knows that much. It was only a matter of time, and in that time she had to find Peter.
She catches a glimpse of the red lights of his mask through the haze of settling dust and smoke. For a moment she feels relieved until she hobbles closer and sees the state he's in.
God, is he even still alive?
She supposes it doesn't matter. They'll go down with this ship together, regardless.
For a moment she just stands there, broken remains of her left arm hanging limply at her side, taking short, pained breaths as blood seeps through the fingers over her wounded side. ]
We're quite the pair, aren't we?
[ She doesn't expect an answer. ]
no subject
Or maybe he finally managed to pass out. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in his death throes and thinking of her. Wouldn’t that be nice? Because he heard her voice just then, and it’s the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe.
We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?
And it reminds him of the first time they had gotten separated like this, how panicked he was when he lost her and how terrified he was when she was hurt. It was during that shitty job that he realized how important she was to him, when he started feeling the first inklings of an emotion stronger than like.
His head tips minutely to where he imagined he heard her, and without careful watching, it would be as if he hadn’t moved at all. He doesn’t open his eyes, though, because if he opens his eyes then the dream will fade away.
When he finally gathers the energy to speak, his words slur together, and his voice is muffled by his mask, barely more than a mumble. ]
Couple’a scared idiots. Perfect f’r each other.
no subject
But later that night she falls asleep in his arms for the first time, and she knows, she knows there's no place she'd rather be. ]
Peter... [ her voice cracks, but at this point she doesn't much care. Gingerly, she kneels, reaching behind his ear to press the switch for his mask. ] My Peter. You're alive.
no subject
He manages to wrench his eyes open, though only just, and his sight is blurry and gray around the edges. But there's a flash of pale skin and something blue and, yeah, it's definitely his Maya. She's there, at least in his dreams, and how lovely, he thinks, to dream of her so he doesn't have to die alone. ]
Hey beautiful. [ He coughs wetly again, feels something warm coming down the corner of his mouth, but he can't find it in him to wipe it away. ] S'ry. Kin' of a mess righ' now.
no subject
[ She tucks her hand under his chin, wiping the small trickle of blood running from his mouth away with her thumb. As much as she can, anyway, considering the mess she is.
It's then that she leans in and presses her lips to his. He's in a bad way, and she wants him to be able to have one last kiss. He tastes like blood and smoke and dust, but he's still her Peter. Her wonderful, brave, perfect Peter. ]
I always told myself I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.
I'm glad I get to.
no subject
He tips his head back against the metal and wills his eyes to focus, because if this is a dream, he wants to see Maya's face and this blurred mess just isn't cutting it. His sight returns by degrees, though, and he tries to blink the blurriness away, and-- ]
Oh, hell. [ He can finally see her now, can see the state of her, and his breath catches in his throat. ] Oh, fuck-- Maya--
no subject
I made this choice, and given the chance, I'd make it every time.
no subject
No-- no, can't be here.
[ Maya shouldn't be here, she should be far, far away and oh God, she's so hurt, she's bleeding and burned and broken, and she's gonna die here, she's going to die here, and they need to get her off this fucking ship.
He's struggling to free himself with what energy he has left, managing to find strength enough to wrap his hands around one of the shards protruding from his gut. He clenches his teeth, breath coming in sharp gasps. ]
You need-- need to leave. Ship's crashing...
no subject
Peter, listen to me. [ Her tone is serious, but her eyes are wet with tears, and threatening to spill over at any moment. ] We're not getting out of this.
no subject
But there's an ominous rumbling off in the distance that jolts the whole ship -- just once, briefly, but distressing all the same -- and the grating sensation in this chest returns. He clenches his jaw until it passes.
He sees the tears in her eyes and his chest aches at the sight of it, something heavy and cold dropping in his gut. His hands fall away from the shrapnel to his lap, but he still grips her hand with his bloodied, trembling fingers. His eyes sting and water, and it's a fight to keep his focus on her, to keep himself from going back under when only seconds ago he was wishing for it. ]
God-- I'm so sorry, Maya. 'S my fault.
no subject
We knew the risks going into this. [ she tightens the grip on his hand. The last thing she wants is for him to die regretting this. ] If this is how it has to end, know that I don't regret one moment. You've made me so happy, Peter. I don't want to live without you.
no subject
Another low rumble resounds somewhere else on the ship and sets the deck shaking, and Peter has so much he wants to say to her, to spill out everything, but the words won't come; they keep evading his grasp, and he has no idea how to say any of it. It's so hard to think. He doesn't know how to tell her she's his best friend; that she means so fucking much to him; that she's the smartest and most gorgeous person he's ever known; that she helped him to learn to trust and be honest again, with himself and with her; and God, why didn't he say any of this earlier, so he wouldn't have to try to do it now, when he's bled nearly dry and his insides are mess?
It takes him a half-second to realize his eyes have slipped shut and that his head is starting loll forward, but he tilts back, forces his eyelids open again. He focuses his eyes on her face and grasps her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers as tightly as he can -- which isn't very tightly at all. ]
I love you. [ It's not even a tenth of everything he wants to say, but it's all that comes to him, and he imbues it with all the meaning he can. He hopes she understands. ] I wish-- I wish we had more time.
no subject
[ But she understands- there's so much to say and no time to say it. He's the best thing that's ever happened to her- he's brought her so much joy that she thinks she couldn't put it into words even if she wasn't in her current state.
She would have liked, she thinks, one last dance. It's impossible now, given that they're both barely hanging on as it is. But it's nice to imagine. With whatever strength she has left in her, she moves to rest her forehead against his, and she hums quietly. It's not perfect, by any means, and the tune is occasionally interrupted by small, choked noises of pain and grief, but she knows he'll remember. It's one of his mother's songs, and the first song they ever danced to. ]
no subject
(He doesn't want to leave her alone, in the end. If they have to go, he wants them to be together, but it's getting so hard to stay awake.)
And he recognizes the song as she sings it, because of course he would, and as grief-stricken as it is, he thinks her voice is still the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. And he thinks of their first almost-kiss on the Milano, and their first awkward date and first real kiss on Xandar, and all the firsts they shared together since then.
And try as he might not to, he thinks about everything they haven't done yet, all the places he wanted to show her. And strangely, he wishes she had met Yondu, because as much tension as there was between himself and the man, Yondu was as close to a dad as he'd ever had. And he thinks Yondu would like her, in a begrudging sort of way.
He wishes they could've gone back to Terra, looked for Peter's family. He wonders if Grandpa's still alive, and he wonders, not for the first time (but it seems to be the last) if they looked for him, and he wonders what they must think happened to him. He's sorry he couldn't go back to set it straight, kept putting it off out of fear, and now it's too late. He's sorry he couldn't introduce Maya to the Quill family, sorry that he couldn't make her a Quill officially.
(Peter's not a traditional man in any sense of the word, and if someone had asked him the day he found the Infinity Stone if he ever thought things like "steady relationships" or "marriage" were a possibility for him, he would've probably laughed in their face and stolen their wallet. But it makes sense to him now, he thinks. Because Maya is the only one for him.)
He wishes for a lot of things right now. Wishes they weren't on a crashing ship, wishes that Maya wasn't here, or at least wishes he had it in him to pull a plan out of his ass to get Maya to safety, but he's spent, he's tired, and it's hard enough to keep his eyes open. He can feel his head tipping forward, even with Maya's forehead against his, and he thinks he's fighting a losing battle.
And he thinks he's crying now. At least, he thinks he feels something wet falling down his face, and it would logically follow. ]
Wish Mom could've met you. [ It's barely a murmur. ] She would've... loved you...
no subject
Her hand clenches around his, but she's quickly running out of the strength to stay upright. ]
I would have loved to meet her.
no subject
[ His gaze is starting to wander, eyelids fluttering, and he thinks he hasn't got too much longer. He can barely feel the way her hand is tightening around his.
Still, he tries for a smile, just the barest twitch of the corner of his mouth, even as his eyes start drifting shut, even as his breath slows. ]
I'm so glad I met you, Maya.
no subject
[ She knows she's losing him- it's no small wonder that he made it this far at all. It's only a matter of time for both of them, but he's gotten quite the head start.
She kisses his cheek ] Go ahead, Peter. I'll catch up.
I love you.
no subject
He wishes they had more time, in the end, but he's glad they had time at all. At least they had each other for a while.
His fingers tighten of their own accord one last time, then his whole body slowly goes limp and his eyes close. There's still that bare hint of a smile on his face, though, and when his last breath leaves his body, it takes the form of a few last words: ]
I know, Maya.
no subject
His head lolls forward and his fingers go slack, and Maya has no more energy left to cry. She laughs instead, though it's a quiet, broken sound. ]
Yeah. Okay. Just this once, you can be Han.
[ He can't hear her- she knows he can't, but she says it all the same.
God, she's so tired. Her clothes are soaked with fresh blood- her own, leaking steadily from the open wound in her side, and she's ready. She's ready to just sleep.
She settles back against the wall where Peter's pinned, and she leans her good shoulder against his. Her eyes fall shut and she lets the exhaustion and the blood loss ease her slowly, steadily into the darkness.
Her thoughts are fleeting, flickering like the lights of a passing train. She has no idea how long she's out, but she feels herself smile when the cool, calm grip of nothing begins to take hold of her.
I'll catch up, Peter, she thinks, serene and somehow detached. Not even lions can tear us apart.
She goes limp, head dropping against Peter's still form, blue hair falling in dirtied curtains around her face. The ship continues its free fall, but there's no one left on board to witness it crash. ]