"there are things i regret.

that you can't forgive and you can't forget

...i know i'm not forgiven,

but i hope that i'll be given some peace."

- black lab, this night

beep. beep. beep.

the sound is somber, but steady. steady as a heartbeat. it is a heartbeat in fact- Alfred's heartbeat.

i don't know whether to hate it or to find it comforting.

Alfred sleeps a lot these days. but he never sleeps deep- never takes deep breaths. i can never hear him breathe, so it is a good thing to know that he's still alive.

but it's also a constant reminder of how utterly helpless i am.

he doesn't have much time left. a couple of days if i'm lucky, less than a couple of hours if i'm not.

either way, i won't be long after.

being an Angel isn't all it's cracked up to be. look at me, i find the love of my life and spend everything i have trying to keep him safe- only to be forced to sit and watch as his life beeps away in a cold hospital room.

i hate Heaven.

i hate God.

i hate how they play with our emotions, throwing us around like toys to serve some 'greater good'.

i hate myself, sitting powerless while Alfred dies less than a foot away.

have i even moved since he became critical? i can't remember.

"you're so pathetic. take a good hard look at yourself Arthur- waiting around for oblivion and crying like a baby. it doesn't get much lower than this..." i try to laugh, but it comes out as a sob. "pathetic..."

"hmm...for someone so pathetic you're pretty good looking sunshine." i look down and Alfred is smiling up at me, blue eyes sparkling. we laugh. i'm an absolute mess and we both know it, but we both know that he really means it too. Alfred's sweet that way.

"hey, you're supposed to be asleep. what are you doing up?" i scold him, but only gently. it's not like bed rest is going to keep him- us- around any longer.

"i'm tired of sleeping. i want to spend some time with my Angel before i kick it." Alfred has no idea what he's saying when he calls me his Angel, and the irony tastes bitter on my tongue. but i don't want to think about that- about anything but Alfred- right now, so i swallow it down and smile when he grabs my hand.

i can feel his bones, and it makes me want to cry.

but i don't. i keep smiling.

"look poppet, if the doctors tell you to rest you should. they have medical degrees, you're just a bonehead in a dress."

"what do they know? anyone can get a medical degree these days- even a bonehead like me. what's the difference if i meet my Maker with a full eight hours? i doubt sleep matters much wherever i'm going." Alfred starts messing with the iv in his arm, and i swat his hand away before he can pull it out. he's done that three times already and the nurses are sick of having to replace it whenever he wakes up.

Alfred grins up at me- about to say something cheeky and obscene no doubt- but it gets lost in a violent coughing fit. when it subsides his face is scrunched up and i know he's hurting.

"if it hurts you need to tell the nurses."

"they'll make me go to sleep."

i have no argument for that. to Alfred spending his last few hours conscious with me is more important than being comfortable, and the thought of being left alone with my mind and that loathsomely comforting heart monitor makes me selfish.

"all right. but if you cough up blood i'm calling someone."

"thanks Artie."

"you're welcome poppet."

we sit in silence, Alfred's in too much pain to joke right now and i certainly don't have much to say. what does one say when facing imminent doom?

what is a Guardian Angel supposed to do when it's time for their Charge to die? what am i supposed to say to Alfred when i know that the only thing waiting for him is a short second life filled with the same pain i'm feeling now and then...nothing?

what am i supposed to do knowing that Alfred will die more than likely tonight and that i'll fade to dust once he's gone?

"hey...don't cry Artie..." Alfred reaches up to brush my tears- when did i start crying?- away, and his touch is so fragile it makes me cry even more.

"it's not fair."

Alfred laughs. "come on babe, i'm dying. 's not like the world's ending."

"mine is." Alfred has no idea, no idea at all. as soon as he's gone i fade away, not even a memory. the world simply adjusts around my absence. after tonight it won't be me who sat here at Alfred's bedside for three days straight and cried more than anyone, it will be someone else. Maybe Alfred's brother, perhaps his mother, or maybe the world will pick someone else to be in love with Alfred and play my part in people's memory. maybe Alfred will have died alone.

it's horrible, the way Guardians get played. we're picked to care about our charges, to befriend them, to love them, to fall in love with them, because that way we want to protect them. that way the Reapers can't kill them and send them to hell.

that way Heaven wins.

Heaven isn't good, Hell isn't bad. somewhere along the line good and evil got chucked into a blender and it simply became about winning.

nothing else matters anymore.

because for a so-called Angel i wasn't exactly the best person in life. a schizophrenic murderer- isn't that so Angelic?

the others i've worked with aren't much better- a Nazi, a psychopathic serial killer, and a man who could put Casanova to shame. from what i understand people like Alfred- truly good people who deserve something better than this- are rare.

i've heard that before- back when it was still about the good getting rewarded and the bad getting punished, back when what you did in life still meant something- all Angels were good. then Hell started using souls strong enough to survive a trip to Earth to corrupt the Angels, forcing Heaven to retaliate to protect them. eventually the two sides settled it with a wager- no one seems to know what over- whoever had the most Angels at the End of Everything won. they set up rules, and it became a game.

that's when Heaven stopping seeing Angels as people.

any means to an end, right?

"i'm sorry." Alfred looks sad, regretful. my face must have turned bitter during my musings. "i really should have taken that second round of chemo, huh?"

"don't you dare regret anything now Alfred- i'll not have it."

Alfred laughs, but it sounds weaker than before. my heart clenches. how much longer does he have if he's deteriorating after just barely and hour? "i keep thinking that it might have made the difference, you know? it worked the first time, even if it was only for a year. i keep feeling like it's my fault you're so upset, because i didn't even try, you know?"

that hurts, almost like a slap to the face. i know Alfred didn't mean for it to sting like that, but i can't help but wonder why this idiot is so fixated on me when he's dying. the stupid fool loves me too much for his own good. "it's not your fault Alfred- you hated chemo. we all hated chemo. you were sick all the time, and you were miserable. it's every bit as bad as this is. so shut up before i smack you for being a selfless git."

Alfred laughs again, but it's so weak it barely sounds like an expression of mirth- just an expression of how long until the end. we have minutes.

"A-Alfred? you know i love you right? more than anything?" my voice is harsh, barely intelligible through sobs.

Alfred nods, but his eyes are far away, not fixed on me or anything. the steady beep beep beep of the monitor is getting slower and slower. i want him to say it back, that he loves me too, but there's no time left.

he flatlines.

i break down.

nurses and doctors file in, calm, orderly, rehearsed. they've been expecting Alfred to go for a while, and they know there's nothing they can do. they simple pull the sheet over his head and unplug him from the machines. no one tries to comfort me, at this point i'm a mist in the corner of their eye. they know i'm there, but i'm not important. not real.

soon i won't even be mist.

i feel oddly weightless, the only thing heavy is my mind and my heart. and even those are starting to scatter, i'm barely clinging onto Alfred as i fade.

i want to fly up into Heaven and see him, but i can't. even back when things were good, when Angels didn't get screwed over at every possible opportunity it wouldn't have been possible.

Angels were never meant to have Wings.

they were always meant only to fall.

never to fly.

;A; I'm so nervous... I don't even know if this makes any sense at all...My stomach hurts just thinking about it...

Tell me what you think? Please? If people like this I was going to do a little fourshot about all the Angels and Reapers mentioned in the story...Arthur and then the three he mentioned. Who I'll let you guess.

Don't ask about the capitalization...I don't even know why myself...