[ He swallows the joke about wasting one of her questions on this. ]
It's May.
[ He remembers it was cold, and nothing like the death he imagined or wanted. You were supposed to die quick: bullet through the head, grenade, a good sniper. Or slow, with a friend, so at least somebody was around to hold your hand, or kiss your brow as death came (and would Steve, had that been the case? It was always the other way around with him at Steve's bedside). All that'd been there for Buck in the end was that damn ravine, and the grey sky, and the thought that it just wasn't fair at all. ]
no subject
It's May.
[ He remembers it was cold, and nothing like the death he imagined or wanted. You were supposed to die quick: bullet through the head, grenade, a good sniper. Or slow, with a friend, so at least somebody was around to hold your hand, or kiss your brow as death came (and would Steve, had that been the case? It was always the other way around with him at Steve's bedside). All that'd been there for Buck in the end was that damn ravine, and the grey sky, and the thought that it just wasn't fair at all. ]
[ Softer, ] I'm sorry I lied to you.