The gunshot echoes through the plaza, as the weight against my back brings me stumbling to the ground. I can see nothing, only hear and feel the confusion around me. Grisham shouting orders. Something warm soaking my shirt. And Marta screaming... *her* name.

I scramble to my knees, catching her in my arms as she slips away, struggling to staunch the crimson river spreading across her breast. "Why?" I demand. I beg.

Tessa's smile is wry, mysterious. "Wouldn't.. let me... kill for you. Only... choice... I had... left."

The Queen of Swords wears no mask when she dies.



For some damn reason, the only really good drabbles I can write are dark and grim, and this one refused to leave me alone after 'Honor Thy Father' aired. < shrug > Guess I just enjoy picturing Peter Wingfield being all angsty. < g >