Klaus can't help but wish that Ben were here right now. For all the horrific things that have happened in his life, Ben had always been at his side. And though things between them hadn't always been the best, the silence in his head with his brother's absence has been miserable. He'd confess to Ben, out of all of them, how scared he is right now.
Vanya's hands are warm at his throat and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. The power doesn't do anything to make him feel better, but she's so warm. If he had the energy to wrap she and Allison into a hug like they had at the salon, he would in a heartbeat.
"Sorry," he says finally, eyes distant, his grip slackening around Allison's hand. He tries to will his fingers to close, to will his body to wait, because maybe, just maybe, they'll figure something out. Five will, maybe even Luther. Then they can all laugh about how stupid Klaus got shot and made them all worry.
But there are no solutions, and he's silly to think there would be. It's fitting, really, that he's been shot in the chest. In the last few seconds of true awareness, he remembers the battlefield, remembers the way Dave clung to him, the way the blood just wouldn't stop. He feels guilt, sharp and swift, because he knows exactly what they're all feeling. What the slick of blood feels like as it pumps too quickly out of a body, how the sounds of labored, wet breathing will haunt your dreams, how the light left Dave's eyes in the dim light of the A Shau valley.
Dave.
Now that is a pleasant thought. His head falls to one side, against the warmth of Vanya's arm, but the corners of his mouth quirk up at the edges. It's not how he planned it, but maybe, just maybe, he could see Dave again. Finally. And while he's still scared, shaking from the shock and blood loss, he suddenly feels a strange sense of calm wash over him. His hand goes slack, his chest stops heaving, and half lidded eyes dim, the fair, mischievous fire extinguished.
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Vanya's hands are warm at his throat and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. The power doesn't do anything to make him feel better, but she's so warm. If he had the energy to wrap she and Allison into a hug like they had at the salon, he would in a heartbeat.
"Sorry," he says finally, eyes distant, his grip slackening around Allison's hand. He tries to will his fingers to close, to will his body to wait, because maybe, just maybe, they'll figure something out. Five will, maybe even Luther. Then they can all laugh about how stupid Klaus got shot and made them all worry.
But there are no solutions, and he's silly to think there would be. It's fitting, really, that he's been shot in the chest. In the last few seconds of true awareness, he remembers the battlefield, remembers the way Dave clung to him, the way the blood just wouldn't stop. He feels guilt, sharp and swift, because he knows exactly what they're all feeling. What the slick of blood feels like as it pumps too quickly out of a body, how the sounds of labored, wet breathing will haunt your dreams, how the light left Dave's eyes in the dim light of the A Shau valley.
Dave.
Now that is a pleasant thought. His head falls to one side, against the warmth of Vanya's arm, but the corners of his mouth quirk up at the edges. It's not how he planned it, but maybe, just maybe, he could see Dave again. Finally. And while he's still scared, shaking from the shock and blood loss, he suddenly feels a strange sense of calm wash over him. His hand goes slack, his chest stops heaving, and half lidded eyes dim, the fair, mischievous fire extinguished.