Page 97 of Warrior's Cross

“I’m sorry,” Julian whispered just before Blake found the wound low in his abdomen again. He pressed a cloth into it to curb the bleeding. Julian’s body curled, and he cried out in pain.

Cameron gasped for breath and clutched at Julian’s shoulder, trying to hold him still. His eyes were drawn to the ugly-looking wound. “Jesus,” he whispered, shocked by all the blood and overwhelmed by the level of agony Julian had to be in to actually cry out.

“Did you get him?” Blake demanded of Julian as he worked.

Julian was panting for breath, unconsciously squeezing Cameron’s hand with the pain, and Blake leaned closer to him. “Did you kill him?” he repeated forcefully.

“I don’t know,” Julian gasped as he opened his eyes once more and stared up at the glass atrium above. “He fell into the lake,” he managed to tell them hoarsely.

“Fuck,” Blake hissed angrily as he reached under Julian to check if the bullet had gone all the way through. His hand came away bloody, and he reached for another towel to press to the exit wound. Julian cried out again and struggled to get away from the pain, kicking at the marble tile and trying to slide away and curl in on himself as he writhed.

Cameron grappled to keep him from moving too much. “Please, Julian, try to lie still,” he begged.

Julian growled softly, the sound turning into something like a wounded animal whining. His struggling slowed, though, and Cameron feared it was more from exhaustion and loss of blood than cooperation.

“I’ve got paramedics on the way, Jules,” Blake told him softly. “This is beyond me,” he explained in a pained voice. He glanced at Cameron worriedly. “He’ll be safe at the hospital,” he told him, “until we can confirm the hit. Hell, if he fell into Lake Michigan, the infections alone will kill him.”

Cameron nodded jerkily, and his entire body tingled with the knowledge that Lancaster might still be out there. Maybe not far away.

Maybe coming to finish the job. His breathing got short and shallow as he looked around the foyer. They were completely unprotected, weren’t they? What would happen if the man attacked them here? Even as he asked himself the question, he realized that Preston must have left in order to cover Julian’s back. He couldn’t imagine the man would leave Julian in this state unless it was to protect him.

Cameron was doing well not to gasp for breath as he tried to remain calm. The pain Julian was in was tearing him up. “Julian,” he whispered pleadingly. “Please don’t leave me.”

Julian’s grip on Cameron’s hand was becoming painful. He tried his best not to move as Blake applied pressure to the wound, but he was still writhing and bleeding on the expensive marble as his eyes began to glaze over.

He looked up at Cameron, and his eyes caught on the battered gold and garnet necklace hanging from Cameron’s neck, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. When he looked at Cameron a few moments later, it was with clear regret and resignation. “I’m sorry,” he gasped again.

Cameron’s face crumpled as Julian apologized again, and he gently kissed Julian’s lips then his forehead as his tears fell against Julian’s cheek. “You can’t leave me,” he whispered desperately. “Who’s going to protect me from the fuzzballs?”

Julian was silent in his struggle against the pain, but he turned his face up to Cameron’s and tried to meet the gentle brushes of his lips, searching for the comfort of contact. His grip on Cameron’s hand was weakening at an alarming rate.

“Get... a cat,” he finally panted in a voice so weak it was barely audible.

Cameron gasped out a small laugh despite himself, and he shook his head and ran his free hand through Julian’s hair again.

“Hold on, kiddo,” Blake urged as he applied pressure to the bleeding wound and watched the elevators impatiently for the paramedics he’d called.

“I’m sorry,” Julian managed as his eyes closed against his will.

“Julian! Please. Oh God. Julian, please... ” Cameron begged miserably, holding Julian’s hand tight and pressing his lips to his forehead between choking breaths. Julian didn’t respond asthe fingers held in Cameron’s hand finally loosened and went limp.

Cameron clung to his hand even when he wasn’t holding on anymore, whispering in his ear as Blake hovered, keeping pressure on the wound and cursing emphatically until the EMTs finally showed up and pushed them both out of the way.

Cameron crawled backward to lean against the glass doors, eyes wide and wet as he watched, struggling to get enough air in as he tried equally hard not to scream out all the terror.

The day was a beautiful one, even if it was scorching hot. The trees were green and full, and the ground steamed with waves of heat from the summer sun high in the blue sky. The world seemed calm and at ease, lethargic in the heat.

The group of mourners was small, but larger than anyone present had expected. Julian Cross’ passing had come and gone with nothing more than a whisper. No official announcement had been made. No family had been contacted. No telephone calls had been exchanged to let mutual friends know he had died. None of his acquaintances had known one another. But word had got around. There were politicians and prominent businessmen mingling solemnly with humble workmen and shady criminals, all of them thinking they’d known the man.

On the morning of the funeral, the crowd had to negotiate the beautiful and haunting ground of Forest Park, forced to stand around the variety of monuments in order to get close to the grave-site.

Miri had taken Cameron shopping to get him some clothes she deemed worthy of the funeral. He ended up in all black, an ironic fact not lost on him. Black suit, black shoes, black shirt with the tiniest gray pinstripe.

Black for secrets. Black for shadows. Black for sorrow. He blended in with the rest of the crowd, but he felt absolutely and totally alone.

Blake had taken him home from the hospital that night after the doctors pronounced the time of death, and he had stayed with him all night. They’d sat in silence on the couch together, neither capable of saying anything, until they fell into fitful sleep.

Cameron had almost totally withdrawn in the three days since Julian lost all that blood just outside Tuesdays. It wasn’t something he’d be able to get over, he knew, holding his lover’s hand and watching him die. Hearing an apology as Julian’s last words, when it had been Cameron who’d needed to say it.

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