A/N: I don't own Fire Emblem or the song "It's Not A Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish." They're owned by Nintendo and My Chemical Romance. This is Heath's point of view.
They are falling. The sky is overcast, clouds masking the sun with filmy gray as a brigade of dead awaits Hyperion's crash to the ground. Heath doesn't see any archers or snipers--they're probably hiding in the forest, or already dead.
He never would have thought that they'd look for him this long.
Hyperion's wings are unfurled as he shrieks in pain; the blood from his wound gushes like rain--crimson rain with a metallic bite, that feels like scalding hot water as it gets into Heath's eyes and covers his armor like some horrific paint.
This isn't supposed to happen.
The ground rushes up to meet them, and Heath knows that they are going to fall and nothing is going to change it.
But he fights that knowledge, if only to humor the part of his mind screaming that they will win, that Legault will show up and toss him a stolen elixer with that crooked smile of his, and hold off the soldiers till he takes flight again. Then Hyperion will leap up, and in moments none will be left alive before the Hurricane and the deserter of Bern.
And he fights the small part of his mind that contradicts it with the desperation of one who knows he is finished, that everything is hopeless now that he has been caught. He will fight, because he has nothing else left.
But Hyperion hits the ground and Heath feels his right leg break. He has no time to think of the pain, nor does Hyperion, for the last few soldiers are coming over. One of them he notices, with his expression that says he will do anything for Bern, anything to defend his country's honor. Heath knows that look all too well as he readies his lance to strike.
He kills that one first.
When Heath is finished, his lance is broken and nothing else is moving, and he realizes that he's leaning against Hyperion. His ribs are sending stabs of pain through his chest; one or two of them probably cracked in his fall, and when he clears his throat the unnecessary cough turns into an agonizing, racking fit.
It feels like he's coughing his life out.
Legault you're not dead you're alive, we're still alive we can get out of here--
The familiar voice startles Heath and he's too stunned to hear what Legault says as he comes over and kneels by him. Heath answers him, dazedly, as recollection hits him, "They shot Hyperion..."
Legault nods and moves in front of him, looking him over. "Are you okay?"
Heath tries to move, but the pain from his leg makes him wince. "My leg's broken. And I think one of my ribs."
"C'mon, I'll help you up," Legault says, taking Heath's arm and pulling it across his shoulder. "Let's get you on Hyperion and the three of us out of this lovely spot, shall we."
He's impressed that Legault can be so nonchalant when he's about to die.
When they stand, Heath falls back down and brings Legault down with him because both his legs are broken.
Can't even get on Hyperion in this condition--
He apologizes; Legault shrugs it off and says that he isn't up for a walk either.
"We won't be able to run this time, Legault."
"Literally and figuratively, I think you're finally right about that." Legault clears his throat and goes on: "You know Heath--I don't think I was lying when we had that little chat at my former headquarters."
"What..." Heath pauses. "What do you mean?"
"You remember," he tells him matter-of-factly. "'Must be this thing called love.' I think I startled you when I said that."
There is a strange undertone to Legault's voice.
Like many other times, Heath can't put his finger on that strange little nuance that always creeps into Legault's manner when they're talking. It's different from his irony, almost perceptibly so now that they've known each other this long--why show it now when they're both going to die?
A crooked smile, a flash in Legault's eyes. He laughs and waves off Heath's unease.
"You said you were joking..."
"Mind, I did also say that I liked you. Or rather," he adds, "your honesty. And that I myself lack the ability to tell the truth."
"So... if you weren't joking..." Heath stops, because half of him does not want an answer, and the other half--the honest half--already knows what it is.
"Yes. I believe I do love you."
What do you say to that? When you're going to die... and someone says they love you...
He tightens his hold; he can't say anything.
Must be this thing called love. You know?
Do I know?
The skies darken from gray to a soft, velvet-black. Heath has not moved. He would ask Legault if he's all right, but an apathy has settled into his mind like blood into the dirt, and it feels just as heavy as his armor.
Legault is even more still than he is.
Are you alive, Legault?
Legault shifts under his arm. "Heath..."
He doesn't answer Legault's almost-sincere voice that can barely be heard in the silence, the deafening silence that almost smothers them. He's too tired now even to breathe, or to feel the pain in his broken legs and ribs.
Instead Heath lets his head sink onto the thief's shoulder, and his arm around Legault's neck relaxes the smallest hint as his last thoughts fade away into silence.
If I hadn't deserted... If we were different...
Would we still be here, Legault? And in the end we'll fall apart
Just like the leaves changing colors
And then I will be with you
I will be there one last time now
And in the end we'll fall apart
When you go,
Just know that I will remember you.