The BLTS Archive - Holding On
by BGM (bgmanic@gmail.com)

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"Hold on."

It came more often, now. The darkness. The throbbing of pain in his
temples, making his eyes water and his throat clench.

"Just hold on."

It was difficult to focus, but those words softly spoken in his ears
encouraged him to conquer the pain. Yes, he could hold on. He could
repel death for a few moments more.

"We'll have you out of here in a second. Just stay with me, okay? No,
no, no, keep your eyes open!"

He felt hands on his cheeks and they were ridiculously hot. He
squirmed in a feeble attempt to evade them, but his watcher kept his
hold strong. His watcher ... an angel perhaps? When he opened his eyes
as instructed, all he could see was the fire of Hell.

"If I could I'd get you out of this myself ... where are they?"
Anxious ... the hands fled from his face and he felt the treacherous
cold of death.

Yes, he would. He had no doubt of this, as true as the pain, his
watcher would lift him up and carry him out. But he had brought this
on himself, hadn't he? Why had his particular attention been drawn?
That had not been the plan at all. The plan, in fact, had deviated
from its original intent, and the pain that sang in his body only
reminded him of this failure.

"They're on their way ..."

The whirr of the tricorder drilled into his mind and he tried once
more to cower from the source. Had he only given himself more time,
none of this would have happened. True, he had meant to be injured,
but not to this extent.

The thought fractured, became a distant memory as his head began to
swam toward the darkness. Yes, this was honest. Pain and death, tools
of a once cherished profession, candid virtues. It was only natural
that he should ultimately be offered at their mercy.

"Stay with me, I said! Open your eyes, look at me!"

The slap on his cheek revived him for a crucial moment. Long enough to
see through the haze of smoke the gentle features of his watcher. His
angel. What a ridiculous notion, these beings of light forged for the
purpose of virtue and goodness. Was there truly any goodness left in
the world?

"Good, that's right, look at me, stay with me ..."

The black smoke was overpowering but could not veil those eyes. They
were wide and pleading, sorrowful and pitying. Amid the fire, his
angel was painted in violent gold, his eyes coal black. He elevated
his hand, ignoring the savage agony that tore through his body. Yes,
he could do this ... endure the pain to touch that face. The cheek he
clumsily caressed was warmer than his hands. It felt right.

It felt right to close his eyes then.

"Elim ..."

And it felt right to gather the last of his strength to say, "My heart
..." before he drift away.

As the medic team gathered hastily into the destroyed shop, Julian
wiped his eyes. Yes, he could allow that. With the heavy smoke that
lingered and the stinging fire that still raged, others could mistake
his sorrow ... his sorrow over the possibility that he had very nearly
lost his closest friend.

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The End