"Her vitals are strong," the doctor was saying, "but she's given up. We can't force her to fight her way out."

Kip sat down beside the bed.

Beep, said the equipment.

He curled a lock of Katrina's hair around his finger. Nearly black, like a river rock, he'd said, once. That was a long time ago. His hair was gray, now. His eyes were deep, now.

She stirred, but didn't wake.

"Please save her."

The doctor's lips tightened.

"Please."

She walked out of the room.

Kip pulled Katrina's hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers, mouthed around her fingertips,

it's not the end, it's just one tongue, it's such a shame it didn't last so long, it's not the end, it's just one tongue, just one tongue, just one tongue,

beep,

he knelt by the bed, still kissing her hand, murmuring, whimpering.

He wished his hair wasn't so gray, her arms weren't so deep.