He can't make himself talk. He tries to warn her, puts forth the best effort he can, but it's too much. The noise strangles in his throat, makes him cough something sticky and wet. All that he manages is something groaning, so low and weak he can barely hear it himself.

But he tries. He tries. He hopes she knows he tries.

Peter knows what will happen the second he sees J swim into his failing vision. Rinzler threatened Wanda over less, J interrupting a kill can only end one way. He doesn't need to watch to know. But he does. He fights the urge to fall under, to let go. He focuses all his effort into keeping his eyes open. Not on Rinzler. Not on the blade falling down toward them. Not on the spray of blood. On her.

He watches her expression change as the pain registers. He watches her knees buckle and body grow limp. He watches as one breath slips out and the next doesn't come. He watches her fall. He watches because he has to. Because he had the shot and he didn't take it. Because this is on him and even through the haze he knows that.

There's a gasping, whimpering noise in the air. It sounds distant beyond the roaring in his ears but he thinks someone might be crying. He tries to reach for her, hand inching out across despite how much it hurts and despite how it steals the breath from his chest. He can't seem to make his fingers curl they way they should, touch like they should. But Peter would like to think he's found her hand.

Peter knows what will happen. He knows Rinzler is still in the room and that the next time that disc comes down, he's going to stop knowing anything at all. The noise of the room has faded. He cant't feel the heat anymore, the pain is starting to drain away. Peter doesn't know when he closed his eyes, but he can't open them again. He think he'll be gone before the program even gets the chance.

But at least he thinks he has her hand. He hopes she knows he's not far behind.