Tim stood, Valerie behind him, the gun in front of him, and he knew then that there was no way they were both getting out of the dead-end alleyway that they had been cornered into unscathed. However, if he played his cards right, Valerie could run away and Tim...
Well, he'd be okay in the end too.
That was the nice thing about the end that he had learned to accept a long time ago. Once it was there, there was no avoiding it. It was between you and whatever followed and that- well, that you had no choice but to roll with.
The familiar flash of metal off of the barrel of a pistol had Tim acting faster than perhaps anyone in the situation, anyone that didn’t know him and his history, would have expected. He shoved Valerie towards the clearest and most direct escape route that he was now making by pulling the attention of their assailant to himself and himself alone. His booted foot dragged over the dirty asphalt, but he didn’t let the pain force him to misstep as he covered her retreat, taking a rushing move towards the assailant.
The moment he had moved to allow her to escape, he had accepted the click that sounded only when someone was ready to pull the trigger. It ricocheted in his head and burned into his brain like a signature on his death warrant. He had already been shot once that month, but he knew in his gut that the second time wasn't going to be a blow that he would walk away from.
Staring down that barrel, Valerie fleeing the scene, Tim thought less about what was to come and more about all that had passed. His life being taken by someone who meant to do nothing but harm while his friend got away. Well, that was karma for his past sins and so he accepted that, happy that he was at least getting the chance to clear some more red from his ledger even in his final moments.
Then his regrets came forth.
He wondered if his parents would be proud of the path he had chosen now, or if they would see his death as a pointless loss when they had so desperately pleaded with him time and time again to settle down into something tame. To find happiness in the mediocre as they had for themselves. Tim thought about what may have happened had he asked Amelia to marry him that night when she came to him about Patrick, or if he had knelt on the hard floor of her gallery in their room after familiarizing himself with every inch of her perfect body and pledged his heart, body, and soul to her until death did them part. Until this did them part. Tim wondered if Quinn remembered the name of the gelato place in Florence, and if she would go again once he was gone. Maybe she would get the caramel and remember kissing the taste from his lips as they walked across the Ponte Vecchio. Tim wondered if Elijah would let go of the fact another male figure was leaving his life, though he hoped his impact was far more positive. He wondered about the detectives who were going to follow after him, about his buddies who had helped get him out of his addiction and back on his feet.
He wondered if passing was going to be more like falling asleep, taking a punch, or shooting up.
Tim had his regrets, but he was grateful to have more good than bad playing in front his eyes as he stared down the person in front of him and heard the telltale sound of a gunshot. It was such a distinctive sound he would recognize anywhere, especially at this range, because of his training. But now that recognition came from the blood now seeping through his previously pristine white shirt.
He thought of Quinn's smile, her laugh when he was being an idiot just to get the chance to hear it. He thought of Amelia's eyes, how they closed and she sighed when his lips caressed her stomach. He thought of his buddies, the peace he would find with those he had already lost so long ago. He thought about 21 guns, and then he thought no more.
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