“Screw you!” Shan turned away, taking a step toward the control room below them.
“It won’t end till you face it Shan.” Race’s voice although shaking, was soft, pleading.
Swinging back Shan growled, “It ended when this place blew up.”
“He died then, but it hasn’t ended.” Race backed away when Shan stormed towards him, ending up in the shattered, rubble-filled hall of the second level. As he did his foot hit something and he stumbled, landing hard on his ass.
Shan’s shadow darkened the doorway as he stared down at Race. Then, with great reluctance, he stepped inside. Looking at the fallen young man he held out a hand. “You all right?”
Ignoring Shan’s hand Race stood slowly. “I think so,” he replied, rubbing his ass. “Mostly,” he qualified when he felt something damp running down his forearm.
“What does that mean?” Shan moved closer and Race carefully backed away again.
“I’m bleeding a bit, but nothing that’ll kill me. I don’t suppose you have a handkerchief or something.”
“How bad?” Shan pulled off his shirt. “And stand still damn it,” he added when Race took another step backwards. “Next time you might hit that hard head of yours instead of your elbow.”
Figuring he was far enough into the hall now, Race did as Shan asked, staying where he was, holding out his arm to him as Shan approached.
Shan took it, checking the damage and then wrapping his shirt around the long, bloody gash. “You’re right, you’ll live. But we should get some antiseptic on it. The med room’s right down…” He froze as the reality of what he was saying hit home. He looked down the hall and shivered. Then he began to shudder, his gaze turning dark when it landed on one of the doors.
“That was his room?” Race asked; his voice soft with concern.
“Our…room.” Shan gripped Race’s arm so hard the young man knew there would be bruises later. “I need… I have to…”
“Finally say good-bye.” Race’s words were barely spoken, just a ghost of a whisper.