one last time

ix

You went back to bed shortly after Hans departed with his team. Staying up late last night had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. You were drained. After a nap, you cooked yourself a bowl of pasta and settled down by the windows to read Hans' poetry book. A few of the words struck familiar from the times he had tried to teach you his native language. Even with your next to nonexistent fluency level, you managed to catch the gist of a poem about a little bird man and a magic flute.

As the afternoon passed, you packed your belongings in case Hans sent word that you needed to flee as fugitives. Nightfall came quickly, and you began to get antsy.

I wonder what the boys are up to now.

You surfed through television channels, tuning into a couple of soap operas before deciding to entertain an episode of the new Star Trek series instead. After that ended, you resumed flipping between channels. You stopped as something caught your eye- you had quickly skipped over a news channel, but you peddled back to KFLW-TV just in time to hear the words "Nakatomi" and "terrorist incident" in the same sentence.

That'd be the boys, alright. They think they're terrorists, you chuckled.

The Nakatomi building came into picture on the screen and you made your way over to the ceiling height windows. You couldn't see Nakatomi Plaza from where you stood, but you knew the east conference room faced the right direction. Bolting out into the hallway, you made a mental note to apologize to Hans afterward for leaving the safety of your locked apartment. I am a grown woman, goddamnit- I am perfectly capable of handling myself while he is away.

Upon reaching the conference room, the hallway lit up with a flash. Your first thought was Christmas Eve fireworks- that didn't seem too out of character for central LA. But as soon as you reached the east windows your heart skipped a beat. The flash had been an explosion from the roof of Nakatomi. You frantically searched for a clock on the wall of the conference room, and relaxed a bit when you remembered the plan included blowing up the roof at around this exact time. Hans is smart. He'll have gotten out on time.

You switched on the television in the conference room, wondering if the explosion had been broadcasted.

"Oh, I hope that's not a hostage," came a voice from off camera. Someone was hanging out of a window near the top of the building.

You cursed the pixelated image as you noticed the hanging person was a man in a black suit.

The hostages are businessmen. Of course there will be plenty of people in black suits. It's just a hostage, you willed yourself to believe.

You gasped as the man dropped, plummeting to his demise.

It's just a hostage.

It's just a hostage.

It's just a hostage.

You turned off the television. Even if it was a hostage, you didn't want to see any images of the aftermath of his fall.

You ran back to your suite, locking the door and planting yourself in front of the phone.

Please ring. God, please ring and tell me to meet someone downstairs with my bags so I can see Hans.

After pacing back and forth in front of the phone for a few minutes, you plucked it off of the wall. It greeted you with a buzzing noise as you raised it to your ear.

You hooked it back onto the wall and went to collect your belongings, placing them in front of the door. Then, you resumed your pacing.

It felt like hours before you gave up watching the landline. You debated turning the television back on when your prayers were answered- the phone!

"Hello?" you answered, trying not to sound desperate.

"Miss (y/l/n)?"

"Speaking."

"Uh, hi... It's Theo."

His voice felt like music to your ears. He's safe. My baby made it out. You grabbed one of your bags from the counter.

"I'll be right down, Theo."

"Um... they didn't make it."

"What do you mean they didn't make it? I'm not sure I understand."

"Hans is dead, I'm so sorry, I-"

You dropped the phone and collapsed to the floor before he could finish his sentence.

Dead.