Feels funny to finally say that, you know?  I’ve seen the world almost end a hundred times.  I’ve heard the screaming as an alien war fleet hung out in space with their finger on the trigger and the seconds ticking away.  I’ve held bombs the size of a cocktail umbrella that could wipe the universe clean and make it look like it never happened in the first place.  I decided a long time ago that giving up wasn’t an option.  Men in Black either don’t give up or don’t survive to spread the philosophy.

But… well, I guess time was against us.  A few seconds trimmed here, shaved there, and who knows?  Maybe the fate of the universe comes down to whether or not I should have had that second cup of coffee this morning.  Or hell, maybe not getting captured by the aliens and left unarmed in a meat locker might have helped.

Better luck next time.

Something thunks overhead.  There’s a whoosh, then a scream that cuts right through all the layers of metal and concrete between me and the real world that’s currently being taken apart piece by piece.  It takes everything I have not to throw myself at the door, like I have at every other scream, and pry at the lock.  My fingers are already bloody and torn up, and the lock hasn’t budged.  There’s no light in here, but somehow I just know.

Kay… hasn’t moved.  Hasn’t said anything or even breathed too much since I woke up.  Smart move, considering that our air is running out.  Which is kind of redundant on the Berillians’ (or is the Ostarians this time?  I can’t keep track, my head feels fuzzy) part, considering that they’re going to blow our planet into a few scattered, scorched asteroids in a few minutes, but nobody said overkill won’t get you anywhere.  After all, they get the dubious honor of saying that they took out Earth.  Bet that’ll get them a few rounds of drinks at the local sinkholes.

My breathing sounds very loud in the quiet.  It’s harder than it should be to get a full breath, since I haven’t moved in a while.  Hard enough to deal with lying on the ground and shivering.  It used to be full, bone-wracking shudders, but it’s scaled way down.  I know enough first aid to know that’s not a good sign.

Something crackles as I reach out in the dark, grasping blindly.  All I feel is floor.  My voice comes out a rough rasp, and hurts on its way out my throat.  “Kay.”

“Yeah, Slick.”

I suppose I can get some sort of satisfaction out of the fact that his voice is just as bad as mine.  I roll my head towards the sound.  Takes way too much effort to do it.  “You got a plan?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, and I hope.  Earth pulled out of tailspin at the last moment by Kay’s brilliant, twisted brain-

“Nope.”  Calm and implacable as always, not even a quiver to admit that he’s feeling the cold or the slow sinking doom.  “Can’t say as I do.”

Status quo says I ought to come up with a snappy comeback.  Hypothermia says the best I can manage is, “Well, fuck.”

A thoughtful pause.  “Yeah.  That about sums it up.”

Of all the things I expected out of a death scene, Prozac boy over there isn’t giving me any of them.  Last minute hysteria, a death scene declaration of… well, not love, exactly, but something.  Whatever it is we have.  Whatever’s in that look of his when I catch him studying me, that almost-smile.

I used to want him, but I pushed it down for so long under snark and silence and the ‘nevers’ and ‘shouldn’ts’ that it turned into something quieter.  Deeper, stronger maybe, but quiet.

It would have been a mistake, a very bad idea, but… we might’ve had fun.

“Hey.”  This time, the rough note in my voice isn’t entirely from the cold.  Way to blow my cool cover at the last moment, but I don’t think cool counts for points anymore.  “Look.”

“Don’t, kid.”

Maybe it’s the cold talking, but somehow that doesn’t surprise me.  Of course he knew what’s coming.  Of course he knew, he always fucking knows.  He’s damned lucky we’re both gonna kick it in a minute or two, because otherwise I’d be pissed.

It takes too much effort to sit up.  Feels like a flashback to those days I went to my grandma’s, visited the state fair.  The Graviton, pressing me down and pressing me back until it was a major feat of strength to just lift my head.  “No, look.  This is… this is fucking stupid.  There’s no point anymore, so why are we even bothering?”

Kay manages to sound almost bored.  “Statute 6.73, article A states that partners in the Men in Black should not fraternize or risk compromising their mission over personal matters-“

“We aren’t Men in Black anymore.”

Somehow, I can just hear him bristle.  “We are until we’re released from duty, Junior.”

“In about sixty seconds, there aren’t going to be Men in Black because in about sixty seconds, there isn’t going to be an Earth.  You waiting for an engraved invitation?  Or you wanna postpone this to the afterlife?  ‘Cause I’m not betting on there being one.”

Kay doesn’t say anything.  Somewhere in the back of my head there’s a counter, ticking down.  Forty five, forty-four.

“Kevin Miller.”  He says the words like after all this time, they’re kind of unfamiliar.  I shouldn’t want to laugh, but I do it anyway.

Forty, thirty-nine.

“Nice to meet you, Kevin.  I’m James.”

Thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty.  Silence from Kay’s corner.  No grand declarations of love, or at the very least that he’s been hot for my body for the last three years.  Looks like that’s my job.

“I, um.  I’m kinda fond of you, Kev.”

“Kevin.”

“Right.”  Damn, you’d think the end of the world would loosen a guy up.

Twenty, nineteen, eighteen.  Oddly, the tight fist in my chest is easing up.

“Actually, when we come right down to it, Kevin, all macho bullshit aside, I love you.”  The words sound good, great, coming free, so I try them out a couple more time.  “I love you.  I love you. I-“

“James.”  And damn, my actual name, rusty as it is, sounds even better coming from him.  Ten, nine, eight.  “I’m…”

Now is not the time for dramatic hesitation, but he gives me one anyway.  From outside our little coffin, something bangs very loudly and the ground starts to tremble.  Five, four, three, two…

One.  Cold, callused fingers, firm from work and dying, wind into mine.  Press.  Zero.  Squeeze hard enough to bruise.  Negative one, my clock was off-

Then everything flares bright bright pain, and goes away.
***
End.