That laughter curls around his heart and smothers the last feeble flicker of resistance. The office is up here, he said to Lorne, tapping his forehead, just minutes ago. Ages ago.

She was here the whole time. He never had a chance.

Fitz lets out a tiny soundless breath of despair; he wants to hide his face, or at least close his eyes, and he can't even do that, can't look away from her face. Except it's not even her face he's seeing anymore, just her eyes, just those two mercilessly bright flecks of rock-crystal blue, trapping his own.

"Do it," he whispers. "Just do it."




At the touch of her withered fingers in his hair, he finds he can close his eyes after all, but it doesn't make any difference.