Here I am…again, and with yet another 'Traveler' fic. Sigh. I'm not really sure what I think about this one. There are some aspects I love…and then others…I don't. But then again, I hate most of the stories I have up, so really it's no surprise that this one irks me.

This fic is kind of like the stray cat that lives on your back porch – the kind that you keep feeding, even though they're annoying as hell. I first wrote it weeks ago, and it's been sitting on my computer glaring at me ever since. So I decided to post it and just get it out of the way. It's short, and I feel that it's rushed, but I already added to it once, and if I do it again I'm afraid the whole thing will go to pieces.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS – I do not own 'Traveler,' or the quote used. This story is rated Teen for blood, violence, language, and character death. Yes, you heard me. There really aren't many spoilers, because this doesn't quite fit in a specific place in the storyline. And I can tell you now that some of the details are sketchy (it borders on a PWP), but that's just how it came out. This is a one-shot, without pairings.

Point Blank

"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."

Crowfoot

The plan should have gone off without a hitch. It was the middle of the goddamn night, there shouldn't have been anyone inside.

Tyler hadn't expected he'd have a run in with the night guard from hell. And he definitely didn't except said guard to be armed. At least, not with more than pepper spray.

Blue lights flashed outside, and a crowd was gathering on the street. The building was surrounded. Hell, there were probably even snipers watching his every move from the other roofs. Their crosshairs were probably trained on his heart, beating furiously in its last few minutes of life. He ducked down inside a cubicle, away from the yawning mouths of the windows.

He'd tried fighting the guard for the gun, but that hadn't exactly worked out in his favor. There'd been a sound like an explosion and a sudden pain, but somehow… Somehow he'd escaped, and now it was only a matter of time before he was found again. Besides, he'd already seen SWAT and everyone else mustering in the street – they'd probably be breaking down the doors before too long, and then it would really be over.

Some part of Tyler knew that surrender was the best option left. Go quietly, and let his lawyer deal with all the shit. But a realistic (and noticeably more cynical) side told him it wasn't even worth it. He'd be lucky if he got two words out before they shot him – again. He pressed a hand to the oozing wound where the guard's bullet had burrowed into his side, but it was useless.

He figured it was best to keep moving – maybe, just maybe he'd find a way out – it was worth a shot, at least. He lurched to his feet, glancing around cautiously. The only light was from the moon and neighboring buildings, as it shone in through the windows. Slowly he stumbled off down a dark hallway, his eyes adjusting to the inky blackness.

Where was he, again? Better yet, where the hell was Jay? Briefly he recalled that they'd planned to meet back…somewhere. Tyler knew he was here searching for evidence. Evidence of…

The blood loss left him dazed and confused. Nothing seemed to make sense, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember where Jay had gone, or why he'd left in the first place. Maybe his wounds were more serious than he'd thought – not that it seemed possible. His side was already hurting like a bitch, he'd hate for it to get any worse.

A shout rang out further down the hallway (damn the guard) and Tyler looked up just as his attacker pulled the trigger and a bullet spiraled toward him, digging deep into his chest. He turned and fled, ducking as more gunshots rang out, trying to ignore the darkness that crept in on the edges of his vision.

He could head to the roof – explain calmly to the snipers and whoever the hell else would listen that no, actually, he wasn't a terrorist, and could everyone please stop trying to kill him.

But as he slid down a hallway, following a sign for an exit, he paused. He fought for his balance, straining his ears. A dull, droning noise was looming closer and closer, and through the haze he registered it as a helicopter. Screw the roof – he'd wait right here.

He leaned back against the wall, gasping for breath as he slid to the ground.

"Shit," he murmured, gently probing the newest wound. Pain spiked at the touch, and he inhaled sharply though his nose. This was bad. No doubt about it – he was a dead man.

They way he saw it, he had two choices left. One, he could sit here until the guard or the SWAT guys showed up and pumped him full of ammo. Or two, he could get up, and wander around looking for a way out of this place, until the guard or the SWAT guys showed up and pumped him full of ammo. And while Tyler wasn't sure he had it in him to run much further, it beat the hell out of sitting around waiting for death to come to him. He staggered to his feet, despite the way pain clawed at his chest and his vision swam.

All of this for a goddamn art museum – an art museum he hadn't even blown up. Now here he was, dying in an attempt to prove his own innocence.

Tyler shuffled down the tiny hallway, listening for footsteps over the pounding in his ears. He couldn't see shit in the darkness, but so far, it seemed he was alone. All of a sudden he met something solid, and reached out to feel a set of double doors. He leaned into one, and it swung open.

He found himself in an emergency stairwell, used in case the elevator was broken due to fire, or because SWAT had cut the power. It was dimly lit by a skylight several stories up.

He was about halfway down the first flight of stairs when his strength gave out. He clutched the handrail like a lifeline, and managed to make it down a few more stairs before he slipped and tumbled the rest of the way down, collapsing into a crumpled heap against the wall. He looked up dizzily at the rather impressive trail of blood he'd left in his wake. It'd lead the feds right to him, but he'd be long gone by then.

It was almost funny, even though it really shouldn't have been. He barked out a harsh laugh, but blood came to his lips instead. Damn…

At least they'd remember him. Tyler Fog, the evil sadistic bastard who blew innocent people to smithereens because he was just that fucked up. They'd oh so conveniently forget the part where he was framed, where best friends turned out to be the guys who got you killed, where fathers traded their own sons for a goddamn profit. Those were the pieces that would slip through the cracks, because nobody wanted to hear that story. People could pretend all they wanted but deep down, all they really wanted was to be lied to – it was just easier that way.

He tried to hold on just a little longer, he really did. But the lulling tendrils of oblivion were just so damn inviting, and he couldn't bring himself to fight them. They were pulling him down, past the pain and the loss and the betrayal and all of it. He left it all there, broken and bleeding on the floor.

And when SWAT would finally show up, moments later, they would only find a body – the body of a young man who'd finally stopped running.

END

3:16 AM

7/31/2007

Yes, I'm a heartless bitch. I can't help it. It's not that I have anything against Tyler…in fact, I was originally going to make this a multi-chapter story so that I wouldn't have to kill him. But then I started another multi-chapter Traveler fic, and this one got shoved aside. Translation – sorry, Ty, but you had to go.

So…if you liked it, please review. If you didn't…well, you can review anyway. I'd like to know what you thought of it.

Cop