"You're dying."

He turned his head wearily. She was young, probably only in her mid-twenties. Serious purple eyes peered at him over narrow glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah," he croaked.

"There isn't anything I can do to save you."

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "I'm overdue, anyway."

She cocked her head to one side. "You're not afraid?"

"Not for a long time."

She hesitated, then sat down in the rubble beside him. "I'll stay with you."

"There are others who could use help."

"There are others who can help them."

His eyes were really a pretty shade of blue, she thought. They held the mild wonder of one too world-weary to be truly surprised, yet wont to marvel at small kindnesses.

"Thanks," he said.

She wrapped her arms around her knees. "Yeah."

They sat in comfortable silence, listening as his breathing grew more ragged. Her eyes strayed. She watched as blood trickled over cracked pieces of pavement and seeped into the ground.

"Do you blame him?"

"…Who?"

"Phantom."

He closed his eyes, thinking. "Not really."

"Why not?"

He glanced at her, this time with tired amusement. "You ask difficult questions."

She gave him a small smile. "…I used to. Blame Phantom, that is," she admitted.

"You stopped."

"Yeah." His eyes prodded her to continue. She sighed. "No one can save everyone."

"They teach you that at medical school?"

"You figure it out quick."

He rested his head on a half crumbled cinderblock. "Yeah." His breath hitched, and he began to cough. She scooted closer and took his hand. His palm was cool.

He looked at their interlocked fingers: his tanned, scarred, bloody; stark against hers, pale, elegant, lightly calloused. "You don't have to do that."

She squeezed gently. "It's okay."

His fingers twitched and returned the pressure. "Last I saw Phantom…he wasn't in very good shape. He's probably…not up to saving anyone, now."

"He'll be fine. He always is."

He gazed at her sadly. "Not everyone can be saved." He saw that she did not understand, and let it go.

They were quiet for a time, contemplative. At last, he stirred. "Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Family. Tell me…about family."

"Well, I'm an only child."

"That's too bad…Parents?"

"Just my mom. She never married. I think she's still in love with the man who was my father."

"What happened?"

"He disappeared before I was born."

"Ran away?"

"No." She shook her head firmly. "It was a ghost attack. My mom nearly died, and my father vanished. Phantom…a lot of people were hurt by that fight. It was a powerful ghost." She bit her lip. "My grandparents think my father is gone, but Mom's sure that he's still alive, somewhere."

He listened intently, giving no sign that he didn't believe her. Suddenly grateful, she confessed, "I always wondered, wouldn't he have come back if he was really alive? But Mom's so confident...I can't help but believe her."

He nodded. "Hold on…to that hope."

"What about you? Your family?"

"Got no one."

She frowned. "Surely there must have been somebody."

He stared off into the distance, the pain in his eyes searing her heart. "I had to leave them. It was better…for them, if I was gone."

"Do you regret it?"

"No. No, I don't. But I wish…it could've been different."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

His small smile returned. "Maybe."

There was a rumble of thunder overhead. They both looked up. "The rain will start, soon," she observed.

"Good. It'll help…put out the fires." He shifted weakly, looking for a more comfortable position on the crumbled mortar. She leaned forward to help him, and he caught sight of her name tag. "Fenton…?"

"Yes, Adrienne Fenton."

"Are you related…to a Jazz?"

She blinked. "Yes."

"…I used…to know her…" He flinched as a spasm wracked his body.

"How?"

He sighed. "Doesn't…matter now. Too…late to…"

She leaned forward. "To what?"

"Apologize," he breathed.

"I'll tell her. I'll tell her for you. Who should I say you are?"

His eyes drifted shut. "Your mother…will know…"

"Jazz…" She paused, swallowing a lump in her throat. His rattling breathing had ceased. "Jazz isn't my mother. She's my aunt." She slid two fingers to his wrist. There was no pulse.

Her eyes burned a little as she set his hand down. She suddenly thought of Phantom, and felt a rush of empathy. She wondered if he ever felt this way about the ones he couldn't save.

Author's Note:Obviously, this needs a beta. Let me know if you're willing to take it. Questions, comments, criticisms: all welcome.