The tall man entered the room quietly. Moving with an almost ethereal grace and quiet, he took a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it and set himself carefully upon it next to the hospital bed.
Silence. Bar the pitter-patter of the rain on the window. He glanced outside. London. 1965. A storm is brewing, he thought. Even here, today, on this realm, I can never escape storms...
"I know you're there", said the old man in the bed.
The tall man sighed. "Thought as much."
The old man slowly opened his eyes. Despite his age, they still showed a youthfulness, stirred with irises of pain, sorrow and long-held secrets, thought the tall man. It's like looking in a mirror - and looking at my future, he thought.
"So. Today's my day", breathed the old man.
"Yes.", said the tall man, "Hence my visit. I'm sorry I haven't been here more." He paused. "It's been a while."
"A good ten years, at least. Well, you've been busy. I'm touched you found a moment to see me. Especially today."
"You're family. Despite our differences, we're connected. By blood. By..."
"Experiences", the old man concluded.
A moment passed between them. A shared look.
"Thank you", said the tall man. "For all you've taught me."
"Thank you", replied the old man. "For keeping me alive for so long"
"How did you know it was me?", said the tall man.
"An educated guess. Not everyone lives to be over 100 years old, with the little I know, and not think that someone is pulling the strings, boy!"
The tall man paused. He then spoke, with authority. "Yes. It's true. You - and the others. All those times where you should have died, I nudged the dice, changed the roll, bargained with the gamesmaster in your favour. But - it's time. I can't do what I need to do without taking the energy that's kept you and them alive." He paused again. "I'm sorry." He looked at the old man with a sorrowful, grave, misty-eyed expression on his face,
The old man interrupted, "What for, dear boy? You've allow us to live lives of joy and wonder, amongst the chaos and darkness that exists throughout it. Nephew - all good things must come to an end."
A moment passed between them. A shared look.
Then the old man bristled, uncomfortable with such a rise of uncommon emotions expressed between them. "Well. Yes, yes. Oh, what do they call you now? Starburner? Realmbulider?"
"Not sure.", frowned the tall man. "It depends."
The old man smiled. "I always preferred your old Omega Division code name - Mockingbird. Taking the mickey, winding and flicking the v's to the enemy and anyone else who stood in your way!"
The tall man smiled back. "Yeah. Those days were good.". Head bowed, struggling with the thought of what he had to do.
The old man spoke with soft but certain tones, like a father to son. "Always remember, my boy. You're doing all your doing to save lives. To save us."
"I saved Beverly", said the tall man quietly, raising his head.
"What?! What?!! Why the Devil didn't you tell me before"
"I couldn't. It was too much of a risk. But now..."
"Yes...", nodded the old man, grimly. "But now..."
A moment passed between them. A shared look.
To break the tension, from nowhere the tall man produced a hipflask. He poured two tumblers of the finest whiskey and passed one to the old man and held the other. They talked some more. About those passed. About those living. About Akio. About Carnaby. About Jean. About Ken. About Kipper. About others.
And then, it happened. The old man winced in pain, "It's time, my boy. It's time."
"The stars will dim at your passing, Uncle Lancelot", said the tall man with a certain softness and regret. He stood. "But burn brighter for it."
"And the world will grow richer for your actions, Nephew Quincy" , said the old man. "And better for them."
The tall man, raised his tumbler. "To you. And all our pasts"
The old man mirrored. "To you. And all our futures."
They drank. Deep.
And then - silence.
Bar the shattering of glass, sliding from the grasp of an old man's dead hand. Bar the sound of the heart machine's sustained beep. Bar the flurried entry of doctors and nurses futilely working to bring the old man back. Bar the rain on the window...
The tall man observed, from a distance, unseen, out of view, out of realm - and noted. And howled, an ungodly, primal sound of pain and loss.
The moment has passed.