[ There's something off about this. Even though he feels the heartbreak and the anger, the love and the hate-- there's something off. Beck wouldn't do this, would she? He wishes he could talk to her. He wishes he could ask. But the math is simple. 266 people, two lives, one minute. (Isn't Beck dead, already? He'd seen her drowned. No, that wasn't right, either.) If he could stop it... but it's linked to both of them. He can't disarm that bomb otherwise. But... he could make it quick.
He just-- wants her to know, before he does-- ]
I'm sorry. [ it's mouthed, and no sound comes out. he wonders if she understands what he wishes he could say. if she even understands what he's sorry for. everything. everything, always. he'd wanted to save her, more than anyone else they'd left behind. maybe that's unfair. ] I love you.
[ not the way she'd wanted him to, but he still did, with all his heart. he wonders how everyone else he loves will feel about this, but there's no time. he grabs her hand... only so he can plant the knife (where...did he get that knife?) in her chest. he's trying to make it quick.
he's always felt responsible for her death, so this seems appropriate. it's harder to take the knife out of her and plant it in himself, the way his hands are shaking. he doesn't know when that started or if the tears pricking his eyes are about what he's done or the pain. he's glad, stupidly, that no one else can see this.
even if he had any last words he could give, they wouldn't be worth hearing, probably. ]
no subject
He just-- wants her to know, before he does-- ]
I'm sorry. [ it's mouthed, and no sound comes out. he wonders if she understands what he wishes he could say. if she even understands what he's sorry for. everything. everything, always. he'd wanted to save her, more than anyone else they'd left behind. maybe that's unfair. ] I love you.
[ not the way she'd wanted him to, but he still did, with all his heart. he wonders how everyone else he loves will feel about this, but there's no time. he grabs her hand... only so he can plant the knife (where...did he get that knife?) in her chest. he's trying to make it quick.
he's always felt responsible for her death, so this seems appropriate. it's harder to take the knife out of her and plant it in himself, the way his hands are shaking. he doesn't know when that started or if the tears pricking his eyes are about what he's done or the pain. he's glad, stupidly, that no one else can see this.
even if he had any last words he could give, they wouldn't be worth hearing, probably. ]