A/N: I nearly cried at the end of Ptolemy's Gate. Then I had to come to fanfiction to read a bunch of angsty fics on Nathaniel's death and nearly cried again. And then I had to write my very own angsty Kitty/Nathaniel oneshot (a really short, probably really bad one).

Don't ask about the child. I don't know either.

Oh, and disclaimer. I do not own the Bartimeaus series. If I DID, I wouldn't have KILLED Nathaniel. ... well, actually, I might have. Just because it gave the series the perfect ending. But anyway. I'm babbling.

---

A mahogany table lit up by candlelight. A single, hunched figure, seated at it, writing on a piece of parchment.

You asked me why I saved your life, that time with the golem. I said I didn’t know. It was true. It still is.

Why did I save you, the despicable creature you were? Why didn’t I let the golem destroy you, like I should have?

For years afterwards I hated myself. I saw those stupid war pamphlets, the newspaper ads, and hated you. I asked myself, every day, every night, why I had done it. I thought I should have left you to die.

But for a time, for a little while, I didn’t. I actually thought I understood why I’d saved you. I saw something of you that I liked, underneath the politician, the magician. For just a little while, I didn’t hate you.

Now I’m back to asking why I saved you from that golem. I hate you. I should have let you die that night. I should have left you.

Because then I wouldn’t be feeling the pain I feel now. Then I would never have known about the Nathaniel behind John Mandrake, I’d never have felt the way I did. I’d never have lost a part of me I didn’t even know about.

I hate you because you made me care about you enough to be sad when you were gone.

And because now, I have to ask you the same question you asked me.

Why did you do it?

The hand paused and set down the pen. That was really all there was.

Kitty sighed and picked up the parchment, skimming over it with her eyes to ensure there were no mistakes. It had to be perfect.

Then she walked over to open the window of the dark room. It was nighttime outside.

Slowly, meticulously, she ripped the parchment into small pieces. Then she leaned over and dropped it out the window.

---

On the ground below, a child felt something featherlight land on his head. He took it off and spared a quick glance at his
mother a few feet away, tending to his younger sisters. Then he looked down at the paper.

He frowned and slowly, concentrating, sounded it out. "Wh ... wy ... did ... y--oo ... doo ... it ...?"

He looked over at his mother again. Still occupied.

Then he looked up and saw a pair of arms shutting a window a few floors up.

"Well, that's silly," he said quietly, "Because it was worth doing."