***GIDEON***

The Snow twins may be tall, strong dudes, but even they have limits. Helping carry Steve through the tunnels really starts to wear them down by the time we finally reach our destination - the same basement room under the library where I woke up after being brought to the Second Universe. By this point, I've taken over from Gabe, supporting Steve's left arm - and getting his blood on me, but I'm past caring about that.

That old James Bond type, Thompson or whatever his name is, is already waiting for us. "Put him on the table," he says, stepping out of the way while Alex and I lay Steve on his back. "And get that jacket off of him. We need to remove the bullet as soon as possible, if it's still inside him."

"What if it's not inside me?" Steve asks.

"That would be the better option," says Thompson. "It would mean the bullet wasn't in your body long enough to poison you."

Steve undoes the buttons of his jacket with one hand, and I take it and lay it aside. Everyone is pitching in somehow - Fionna and Kyle are standing guard on the doors at either end of the room, while Annie and Russell are raiding the nearby supply closet.

Before removing his shirt, Steve takes off his glasses. "Really?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. "You're possibly dying, and you're gonna make sure you don't break your spex?"

"Force of habit," Steve says with a weak laugh. He groans in pain as he takes his shirt off and hands it to me.

I turn around to leave the shirt with his jacket. Before I put it down, though, I notice the hole left behind by the bullet. I turn the shirt around, expecting and hoping to see a second hole. There isn't one.

Oh shit, I think, knowing what this means. "The bullet's still in him," I breathe. "It's still inside you, Steve," I say in a louder voice.

"How can you tell?" asks Thompson.

"You gonna ask to know how I know, or are you gonna take the bullet out?" I ask.

Thompson puts his hand over his mouth for a second. "Mr. Walker, I'll need you to turn over," he says. "Let me see the exit wound."

Steve complies, gritting his teeth and letting out small hissing noises. "You're right," Thompson says when he sees Steve's unblemished shoulder and wing. "There's no exit wound." He mumbles something under his breath - it sounds like the F-bomb, and maybe something worse, but at that low decibel level, I can't even figure out how to break it down into discernible words.

Steve puts his glasses on. "Fuck," he groans, much more clearly than Thompson did. "All right. Who's gonna cauterize the wound? Don't make me do it myself. That's not gonna be fun." He laughs, but nobody else does.

"It will take more than just cauterizing the wound," Thompson says. "First, we'll need to extract the bullet. Then we'll need to purge the dark energy from your system." He raises his hand and lets a little light shine from his palm. "Mr. Prado, you might need to assist me on that front."

"And you're gonna take the bullet out of me?" Steve asks, his eyes half-closed from the pain.

"Trust me," Thompson says. "I am a doctor, after all."

"Medical or philosophical?" Alex asks.

Even Thompson cracks a smile at that joke. "Does it matter? What matters is that I know how to remove a bullet." He turns to Russell and Annie. "Troiraz, Troianni, get me the forceps and a pair of rubber gloves."

"There's some whiskey in here too," Russell says, pulling out an unmarked plastic bottle full of dark brown liquid. He unscrews the bottle's spray top and sniffs its contents for a second before pulling his head away, a disgusted look on his face. "Or something just as strong. You wanna use it to sterilize the wound, Doc?"

"No," says Thompson, taking the supplies he requested from Annie. "Our use of light and fire elementals should suffice." He moves around so he's behind Steve's head, then sticks the forceps into the bullet wound. Steve cries out a few times, but otherwise keeps his mouth tightly shut.

"What, you think we'll think less of you as a man if you show how much pain you're in?" I ask.

Steve blinks rapidly before turning to look at me. "I...I can handle it."

"Yeah, you got a tattoo when you turned seventeen, right?" Alex asks. "Do they do that in this 'verse, too?"

Steve shakes his head. "I was gonna do it for my eighteenth instead. But my birthday's not till the 25th."

"Oh, that's..." I try to remember what day it is now. Is it Monday or Tuesday? I'm pretty sure it's Monday. That makes today June 1st. "That's only twenty-four days away," I say.

"Twenty-four, huh?" Steve asks while Thompson pulls the forceps out - but with no bullet. "That number have any special magical significance or anything?"

"Not that I know of." I look down and see Steve's fist clenched tightly as Thompson sticks the forceps back into his shoulder. Then I look up and catch his eye. He blinks twice, then thinks, I wouldn't mind, you know.

"You're such a baby," I laugh. But I take his hand anyway. And I almost drop it immediately, because his skin is freezing.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks. "Afraid to show you care?"

"No, of course not," I say. "It's just a bit awkward for me, 'cause..." I turn my head away from Steve so he doesn't hear me thinking about how deathly cold his hand is, and how that's got to be a sign that he's not going to make it...Stop it, Gideon, I think. Don't think about that. He's gonna be fine.

"'Cause why?" Steve asks.

"I've got it!" Thompson calls out, raising the blood-soaked forceps in the air and nearly dropping the bullet in the process. Looking more closely, I can see that it's not the usual gunmetal-gray color, but the same black as Russell and Annie's dark power.

"'Cause I remember you used to want to ask me out," I say.

"Oh?" Steve tries to play it cool, even though he's in so much agony. "Didn't...didn't know I was into guys."

"You knew me as a girl, so it doesn't make you gay. Or bi."

Steve snickers under his breath. "What if I am bi? You used to to look hella androgynous, didn't you?"

"That's right, I did," I laugh. I take a look as Thompson beckons Kyle over and takes off his rubber gloves.

"I can't pretend I didn't wanna sleep with you when we first met," Steve says. His laugh then turns into a weird gurgle.

"That's what I thought," I say. "At least you didn't try to press the issue."

"Yeah, that would've been - OW!" Steve cries out as Thompson sticks his finger in the bullet hole, releasing a bit of bright white light into his veins and arteries.

"I do apologize," Thompson says. "The light and dark energies are annihilating each other. I should have warned you it would be quite an agonizing experience." He removes his finger and wipes it vigorously on a paper towel. "All right, Mr. Prado. Your turn."

Steve winces, bracing himself for Kyle's treatment, but as soon as Kyle subjects him to the light elemental, he relaxes. "Huh. That's not as bad."

"It only hurts the first time," Kyle says with a weak laugh. I see him exchange worried glances with Thompson, raising my own suspicion levels. It's not helping that I'm still holding Steve's hand, and it's not getting any warmer.

"I swear, it's gonna be on my urn when I get cremated," Steve says. Is it just me, or is his voice a little hazier and breathier now? "'Steve Walker - Couldn't Tell A Girl He Loved Her To Save His Life.'"

"Don't you mean 'grave?'" I ask.

"They don't really do burials around here," he says. "There's not enough space. Everything's all built-up. Besides...whatever we were before dying - angel, human, or demon - doesn't matter, really. We're all equal here."

"Equal or not," I say, tightening my grip on his hand, "you're gonna have to hold off on the cremation. You need time to come up with a better epitaph, for one thing."

Steve grins. "I'm a classic example of what the French call l'esprit d'escalier. Translation: 'staircase wit.'"

"Yeah, I know what it means."

Steve turns away from me and locks eyes with Fionna. "It's so weird. Ever since I died...I felt like my heart was being pulled in two directions at once."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Steve answers my question by reaching out and taking Fionna's hand as well. "Hope Alex doesn't mind me doing this," he says. "He...he wouldn't kick a dying man when he's down...would he?"

"Stop saying that!" I yell. "You're not dying!"

Fionna nods sharply. "Yeah. What she said."

Steve takes a few breaths - shallow, from the sound of them. "Come on, don't deny it," he whispers. "Look at the adults. They're not looking too happy."

I glance over at Thompson, Kyle, Annie, and Russell. They're huddled in the far corner of the room, arguing in hushed tones.

"That doesn't mean you're gonna die," Fionna says.

"I didn't feel anything after the first light treatment," Steve whispers. "I dunno about you...but I don't think...that's a good sign."

"Dude, seriously," says Alex, who's standing behind Fionna. "We got the bullet out. If you die on us, I'm gonna personally ensure you're resurrected just so I can kill you myself for being so weak."

"You have a lot of confidence in me...don't you?" Steve asks.

"Of course," says Gabe. "You survived Elijah. You'll make it through this. No problem."

Steve turns and looks up at the ceiling, his eyes starting to glaze over behind his glasses. "I'm serious about the 'not being able to tell a girl how I feel' thing," he says. "I couldn't do it for you, Gideon...when you were still Dani, I mean. Same goes for you, Fionna."

The first thing I notice is that he's not using our last names anymore. Things must be serious if that's the case. And he's talking to Fionna as well, but that doesn't really surprise me. After all, Fionna and Steve went to the Second 'Verse together, and they've been neighbors for over six months now. There's really no reason why they shouldn't have at least developed some level of feelings for each other.

"I just...I just...I need to get this off my chest," Steve continues. "Just in case. I wanted to ask you out so bad, Gideon...but I died...before I could work up the courage. And...even after I died...I still missed you too much. I mean...I missed Dani...I didn't think...I could...fall in love with anyone else." He struggles to lift up his hand to Fionna's cheek. "And that...that's why...I didn't ask you out...when I had the chance."

"Out of the way, out of the way!" Thompson calls out, brusquely pushing me aside. He stands next to Steve, raising a syringe and letting out some of the liquid within, no doubt to get rid of any and all air bubbles.

"What are you doing?" I scream. "You're gonna kill him!"

"No," Thompson says. "We couldn't get the bullet out quickly enough. I'm simply easing his passing with morphine." He sticks the needle into Steve's chest and injects the drug into his heart, then backs away.

Unable to think of anything else to do, I take Steve's hand again - I'd been forced to let go of it while Thompson served him his lethal injection. "Steve?" I say, leaning down so I can look him in the eye. "Steve? Stay with us, Steve!"

Steve gasps, his breath now becoming labored. "If there's...a Third Universe...I'll send...you guys...a postcard."

He grins one last time, and then his eyes flutter shut. His other hand, which was still on Fionna's cheek, falls to the surface of the table. I can't even feel his pulse anymore. His chest isn't rising and falling, because he's no longer breathing.

I can't believe it. No, I won't believe it. He can't be dead and gone, just like that.

Someone else disentangles my hand from Steve's. Gabe, I think - my vision's been compromised by my tears, but there aren't any other blond dudes in the room. I think I see Alex doing the same for Fionna.

I feel so horrible and guilty. Steve might have made it sound like he had no ill will against me (or Fionna) for his own inability to tell us he loved us, but I still feel like it was my fault, somehow. And the fact that he literally ended up telling us on his deathbed only makes things worse.

I look over Gabe's shoulder and see Thompson throwing the used syringe into a slot in the wall marked "Incinerator." I glare at Thompson, directing a thought at him: You shouldn't have done that. He could have lived. He could have fucking lived!

Thompson turns around and looks down at the floor, as if he's embarrassed. "We all agreed we had no other choice," he says. "The treatment wasn't working-"

"Because you didn't give him a chance!" My voice rises with every word. "You just killed him off! You're...you're..." I can't even find the words to express myself anymore. Instead, I drop to the floor, my back against the side of the table, dry-sobbing while Gabe lays a hand on my shoulder.

Don't worry, he says. He's not talking out loud because I can hear him crying too. We'll get back home. That's what he died for.

Why, though? I ask. I'm not important enough to have people die for me.

Apparently, we are. Gabe lifts me up and wraps me in his arms, his hand gently patting my shoulder. You, me, and Alex. We're the ones who need to get back home. At any cost.

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