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“Connor,” you whisper, and he turns to you even though your voice is lost in the snow. It’s so quiet outside, so serene, and he’s there, he’s - he’s…
Oh, he’s alive.
“No, no,” you’re saying, because Connor is in your arms and you’re covered in blue. Bullet holes are scattered across his body, and your hands are shaking. Something in him is still working and he reaches for your face, fingers dancing across your cheek. You feel some of the blue blood wipe off on your skin. “Connor, you gotta stay with me, alright? You have to…”
You pause, looking around for Hank, for someone, anyone. Someone who can help Connor, because he’s… he’s dying and you’re just sitting there in the snow, painted blue and white.
“I’m sorry I failed my mission,” comes Connor’s strained voice, and your eyes shoot down to him. You sniff - it’s because of the cold, not because of him, because of the cold - and smile at him proudly.
“You didn’t fail, Con,” you tell him. He meets your eyes as you run a hand through his hair. “You did so, so well. You really helped Markus and the others.”
He blinks, and you reach for his hand, holding it close to his chest as you lean closer to him. A part of you is saying that you shouldn’t be so upset, you shouldn’t care this much for someone, but another part is telling you that he’s worth it, that it’s okay.
“Why are you crying?” Connor asks, and you realize that you are. You brush your tears away with the back of your blue-stained hand, shaking your head.
“I’m not,” you say. “It’s just the cold, you know?”
“Don’t lie,” he says, and a light wince leaves his throat. He squeezes on your hand and you try not to let your tears flow.
“Because…” you start, looking at his fingers intertwined with yours. “Because I’m sad, Connor. Because you’re dying and I can’t do anything about it.”
He smiles, this time, something rare, and it only makes your heart hurt more. He opens his mouth to say something, but then stops, abruptly, and freezes up in your arms. You’re full-on crying, now, lamenting to no one as you’re leaning over his body with his hands still in yours. The snow soaks up all your cries.
He died in your arms.
How is he here?
You blink, once, twice, to make sure it’s not just a hallucination, watching him as he stands in front of you on the sidewalk. Tonight is like that night - snowy and cold, your cheeks and nose rosy. He’s still the same - even down to his LED. A car rushes by and the sound echoes, bouncing off the walls of buildings.
“Y/N,” Connor says, and suddenly you’re reminded of all that he is - the way it felt to have him look at you, the hidden warmth behind his calculating eyes. “Hank told me that you live around here, and I thought I would stop by -”
Before you know what you’re doing, your feet are moving to him, losing traction but still running. You collide with him and wrap your arms around him, feeling him stall before embracing you back, tighter and tighter.
“You’re alive,” you say, voice soft.
He holds you closer, hands splayed across your back.
“I’m alive.”