Covered in blood. Expression maniacal. His breathing fast. His posture still. He took me in with a rage I’d never seen before. He was on his knees instantly, his arms grabbing me and checking me, his hand planting itself on my chest to see if I had a gunshot wound. “Chérie, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” I heaved and heaved, breaking down in mental agony. “Gilbert…help him… He’s been shot.”

When he realized I was fine, he moved to the floor where Gilbert lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, giving labored breaths as he clung to his last few minutes of life. When Fender bent down over him, Gilbert shifted his eyes to Fender’s face.

I crawled over, tears pouring down my face. “He saved me. Everyone went to the bunker, but he came to get me.”

Fender’s face turned stoic, and he planted his hand against his bloody chest. He inhaled a deep breath as he stared at his blood-soaked hand. Blood pooled underneath him, staining the rug with so much blood, it was incredible Gilbert was still alive.

I choked on my sobs. “He…he wouldn’t let them take me.”

Fender kept his hand on Gilbert’s chest and looked into his eyes. He didn’t tell him he would be okay. He didn’t try to move him so an ambulance could take him away. “Thank you.”

Gilbert moved his arm weakly so his hand could reach Fender’s. He held it against his chest.

Fender reciprocated and squeezed his hand.

Gilbert breathed deep and hard, his breaths becoming more labored as the blood supply to his lungs grew less and less. “I…I…did it…for you…sir.”

My hand cupped my face, the amount of my tears rivaling the amount of blood everywhere.

Fender inhaled a deep breath as he looked down, his eyes growing soft. “Not ‘sir.’ Fender.” He held Gilbert’s hand on his chest and stared into the eyes of the man who had served him so faithfully, so loyally. There wasn’t deep emotion on his face, just a quiet sympathy, and he watched Gilbert struggle to breathe as their hands remained clasped. “Your family will be taken care of.”

His breathing grew deeper and deeper, gasping for air that he couldn’t get. His eyes started to glaze over, and his hand immediately went slack in Fender’s. His body went rigid, all the muscles tightening, and then his head turned slightly because he went limp.

When he was gone, Fender closed his eyes and bowed his head, sucking in a deep breath that showed the pain he’d been restraining until Gilbert was no longer with us.

My tears stopped for a few seconds before they resumed once again, louder and harder.

Fender released Gilbert’s hand and placed his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry.”

Everything that happened after that was a blur.