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It was easy to pretend death didn't exist here, even in winter it was peaceful and not ravaged or barren.

"Did you make these statues?" he asked, quite taken by their beauty. "It's almost meditative. I always enjoyed gardening you know."

The meditative effect was intense and he could swear that he'd never been in a more peaceful place, it seemed to take all of the tension out of his body, making him relax. It could almost send you to sleep, it didn't matter that it was brisk, it was beautiful.

"I'm.. I'm ok." he said, moving almost instinctually to sit on the bench that overlooked the mountains. "It's nice." he said distantly. His head didn't clear at all. "Maybe I feel a little strange."

There was a moment of hazy panic, a primal spike of adrenaline, likely as close as he had to a survival instinct, but it quickly faded back into the background noise of flat indifference to life in general. "Ah." he said and it felt slower and more sluggish than he was used to. "A good place. Peaceful."

He could feel himself drifting off, it was too easy to sleep, like a heavy weight settled across the back of his head, his mind starting to blur the edges of sleep and waking. Behind Rodney the mountains seemed to waver and move."Why?" he asked, moving as the world seemed to veer and shift around him to hold onto Rodney as tightly as he was able as his strength waned.

He only lasted long enough to hear any answer that was given before he succumbed to the need to sleep

The first thing he noticed was that his head hurt. It felt like a hangover but slanted in a different direction. It took a few moments for what had happened to come back to him. He stirred and sitting up - in a way that made the room spin and forced him to brace himself - he tried to take in where he was.

The room was too empty for him. "Rodney?" he asked, hesitantly at first and then louder, with an edge of something shaky in it. "Are you there? Where am I?"

The fact that Rodney wasn't there with him was oddly distressing, no contact, no closeness, just a voice from overhead. It was surreal.

"I'm all right." he said. He'd felt worse. "And yeah." he said, assuming this was simply some sort of elaborate hideout. "It seems pretty well hidden."

But then he tried to put together why he'd been drugged to get here and couldn't solve the equation. "Rodney. Why did you knock me out to get me here? I'd have come on my own."

The realisation was a difficult one to take at first and in an instant he cycled through every stage of grief before settling on the one he was always going to settle on.

It made sense. You lived by the sword you died by it. It wasn't prison, it wasn't a show put on to intimidate people, it wasn't him paraded without his dignity for grieving families. It was here where no one would know he was gone or miss him - not that there was anyone but Rodney who would. It didn't matter. It was fine. It was better than anything else that he had, and it would be someone he mattered to even a little who pulled the metaphorical lever.

Thirty days was time, though what you did with so much time when there was nowhere to go and nothing but your own impending doom to think about was unclear.

"That's a long time." he said. "Are you sure you can't just do it now and get it over with?" And again it was escaping, running from something that he refused to look at. "I don't know what I'll do with thirty days. I don't have loose ends. I don't have people to make peace with."

"Okay." Lawrence said, and it was the tired resignation of a man who had been running for decades and who was ready to finally concede to rest. He wasn't stupid, he was old enough that the false sense of immortality that came with youth was long gone. There weren't many ways out. Suicide had never been an option, too proud and avoidant to take such a decision. This somehow seemed an acceptable if unexpected solution. Perhaps there had been some divine hand after all.

He exhaled. "I'll try, but I might need your help to find anything, even if I want to."

Closing his eyes, he lay back on the bedroll.

"I didn't think I'd get a memorial." he said. "I thought I'd just be a number in a prison graveyard. Maybe this is better in the end." And they'd never find him, he'd vanish and the legacy of his murders would endure.

He laughed,it all, a strange and jarring response to hearing one's impending death, but in spite of it all he felt free, a weight lifted by finally knowing his fate with certainty. "I'm only sad I didn't kiss you now, like I wanted to, when you were close."

Lawrence laughed again and this time it was markedly relief. "I will admit I was afraid it would be drowning" he'd never really admitted the fear to anyone. Whenever he was in deep water he found himself struggling to swim like a whippet and tiring quickly. He had almost drowned as a result several times.There was something about it that ran deeper than even his conscious mind, a vestigial fear that took control of him. "Because I'm afraid that would be quite undignified, I wouldn't be able to keep it together." He didn't want to struggle. "The method you propose is acceptable and shouldn't be too much trouble, I probably don't have much blood anyway." To be essentially mummified and preserved felt appropriate to a man who for a sliver of golden time had felt almost a god.

"I hope that the statue is one you feel inspired for and enjoy creating" He felt powerful again and he'd never have thought he'd find it in a place like this. "I wouldn't want my final testament to be a chore"

Rolling onto his side he eyed the smooth stone walls of his prison with a distant stare. "Why not now?" He asked and something fervent edged into his voice. "Why not now more than ever?" And for some reason this was the thing that seemed to stick in his throat like a lump he couldn't quite dislodge. "I won't get other chances. I'd quite happily face my maker with you as my last indulgence, one of his messengers. I'd be purified by the contact. I might never see you again"

Or if he would it wouldn't be on Earth.