Who: Nate Roth What: The end. When: Shortly after this. Where: His apartment, Manhattan. (Sideway's World) Warnings: Terrible things, including character death. Solid R.
His confrontation with Laura had left him drained. He knew he should have felt more, felt something. Rage, sadness, betrayal, loss…but there was nothing. Nate searched for some kind of feeling, anything that he could hold on to. As he trudged up the narrow stairs to his shitty little box of an apartment, he realized that he hadn’t shed a tear for anyone. Not for Abigail or Paul or Laura, who was as good as dead as far as he was concerned. In one day, he’d lost nearly everyone that he cared about, and he wasn’t even sure if he was sad about it.
He shut the door, not bothering to lock it behind him, and looked around dully. Nothing he had here seemed to matter anymore. There were boxes of old comics, a few collectables he hadn’t been able to part with, and half of his wardrobe strewn across ratty hand me down furniture. What really caught his eye were the photographs. He had a lot. Him and Abigail from ten years ago, on some kind of family vacation. A string of photo booth snapshots of himself and Laura, pulling faces at the camera. That had been just before she’d started working for CORE. There were a few of Paul and Dan and other members of the Resistance, taken at a victory bar crawl, back in the days when they’d actually won a few battles. Before Dan had been lost to his reincarnate, and the rest of them had spent their lives getting the shit kicked out of them by a bunch of psychos on a power trip.
Taking the framed photo of Abi, he sat down on the edge of his bed. His baby sister had meant the world to him, more than anything else. And now she was dead, cut down by the woman he’d loved. No, that wasn’t right. He still loved her, and that was the worst part. He didn’t think he could live with that. He definitely couldn’t.
His gaze strayed to the small set of drawers beside the bed. Like every member of the Resistance, he kept conventional weapons around. Maybe that was the answer. Everyone else he knew and cared about was gone. It wouldn’t be so terrible to join them. It wasn’t like he had anything left here. He stared at the drawer for what felt like hours before opening the top one and pulling out his pistol. Normally, he preferred to use Han’s weapon, the much lighter and quieter laser gun that the Agency had given him. Not this time.
Come on, kid. Han. Of course. The scoundrel had been quiet for a long time, but he had to speak up now. It’s not so bad, Solo. You’ll get another chance. Try to keep a closer eye on Luke for me, okay? Han’s protests got even louder, but Nate was deaf to them all. He put the barrel of the gun against his right temple. “Better luck next time, buddy.”