A/N:

this is a multi-part song-fic to The Last Night by Skillet (great song, you should listen).

Please note that I have changed the circumstances surrounding Diva's defeat.

I do not own Blood+ (that's depressing, because if I did I'd make a sequel!) but I do own this fanfiction and so, by right, the liberty of the characters within it. So I can make them do whatever I want, even though it doesn't quite follow the storyline.

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The Last Night:

Part 1

You come to me with scars on your wrist
You tell me this will be the last night feeling like this

He was playing. The strings shook under his bow, the wooden body vibrating gently between his knees. He played the piece she'd taught him so long ago, hoping that the familiar music would call her back to him.

"Haji."

He stopped and stood, placing the cello carefully on its side and turning to her. She was graceful, poised, her nihonto clenched tightly in her hand. The roof had been the perfect place to play, because she'd come.

"Saya." She stepped towards him and tumbled. He rushed to her side, catching her in his arms. "Where have you been?"

She held up her arm; there were slices up her wrist, blood trickling slowly from them, making lace-like patterns on her skin.

"Saving people."

He felt a sudden, unexpected, and inexplicable surge of jealous fear.

"Making Chevaliers?" He kept his voice calm.

She shook her head. "Freeing them from Diva."

"All of them?"

"Just four."

"Not Solomon."

"He wasn't there."

The cuts that marred her arm healed slowly as they watched, the skin knitting together with abnormal speed for a human. He stared; it should have been faster, and unblemished skin should have appeared. But the wounds healed agonizingly slowly, and in the end there were thin scars defiling the normal smooth beauty of her skin. He reached out his unbandaged hand and ran his thumb over the raised white ridges.

"Saya." he whispered.

"It's almost time." She tried to hide the shaking in her voice, but it was futile. He knew her too well, for too long, and the smell of fear rolled off her like perfume. "I can't stay awake for much longer. But —" She whimpered, a quite noise that cut into him as well as her sword had, thirty years ago.

"Don't speak." He picked her up and carried her like a child off the roof and into the run-down apartment, the tip of her blade dragging on the ground as they went. He locked the door behind them and brought her to the window. The New York City lights sparkled in her eyes as she gazed out, and her body felt right and natural in his arms. "You need rest."

"No!" Her harsh cry startled him and she struggled from his grasp, sitting instead on the windowsill. "No. Haji —" Tears filled her eyes; he longed to wipe them away. "If I rest, even just for a moment . . . I might . . . I might not . . ."

"I understand."

He didn't understand. He hadn't felt tired for about a hundred and twenty years. But he saw the anguish and fatigue that plagued her body like an illness, and he wished that he, too, could sleep. That he could lie next to her for the thirty years she rested, and literally never leave her side.

"Tonight, without the protection of her Chevaliers, Diva will sing." Her voice had changed. It was cold and solid now, like ice. Like stone. Like steel. "She will sing to awaken 2.3 billion Chiropterans, all over the world. She will sing, and people will be watching, and the children will be unguarded. I will kill my nee-san. Red Shield will disable the satellites to prevent the spread. You must kill the children."

He stared at her. He wanted to argue, but his will bent slowly and inexorably to hers.

"Wakata."

She reached up and cupped his face with one hand, the other gripping the hilt of her sword.

"Haji," she whispered, her breath brushing his face like butterfly wings. "It all ends tonight."