He's as cold as the hard-packed sand around us when I wake up.

Of course he is.  It's fucking freezing here at night.

I stay still for a moment anyway, curled around him, holding him one last time, kissing his clammy cheek and still-soft, just-parted lips.  Like he so desperately wanted, needed, and I denied him after all we'd been through together.  After all he'd done for me.

Because I had a MISSION.

But I don't want to think about that.

I force myself to let go, sit up, look at what's left of his beautiful face.  At least a third of his head is gone.  Blasted away in an instant.

He didn't suffer.  Never saw it coming.

I brush his one remaining pale eye closed, kiss him one more time, then crawl out of the hole I dug last night.  I at least half hoped I'd bleed out and it would cave in and bury us both.  No such luck.

I push the pile of displaced sand over him.  I'm almost done when I realize I forgot to take his dog tags.

Fuck it.  I'll give him mine instead.

I dig down again until I see a final glimpse of his smooth, dusky skin, then take the tags from around my neck and drop them in.

There.  Now Cain is just as dead as Deimos.

Good riddance.

Kneeling by the low mound, I whisper in our mother tongue, "I am so sorry, little mouse.  So sorry."

Then I haul myself to my feet, try to ignore the crushing ache and stale coppery smell where half of my left hand used to be, and walk through the endless sand toward the ruins of the Colteron base every other fighter on this mission died to take.

As if it matters anymore.

But it does matter.  It matters because I'm living for two now.  Abel is better off without me, the universe is probably better off without me, but my myshonok would expect me to fight until my last breath.

So that's what I'm going to fucking do.