Author's note: Now, we're all used to Grilo being treated a certain way. Graverobber is a cuddly bastard, and Shilo is a little spitfire; they overcome their differences, fall into bed, fall in love. But let's be practical: Graverobber is a drug dealer, and Shilo is dangerously naive. That being said, I decided to try a different take on their potential/probable romance. Be warned that this is dark.

It was the easiest thing in the world to talk her into bed. They made love all over that big, vacant tomb of a house: on the kitchen table, in the shower, in her canopied bed. Of course, first he ensured that the beauty was well prepared for the pain with the help of his silver tongue. With her pale virgin thighs trembling on either side of his cheeks, he tasted love and paused in his endeavors to see her face. Like love. Over the hours in the evening stretching on, and in the two days that they confined themselves to the house for the sole purpose of sex, he obsessed over her body, loved every part of her, and she gave in with grace. Her kisses fell on him, sweet as candy.

She was so fucking grateful that he'd saved her. Now she was grateful that he could satisfy her as no one ever had, ever could.

Graverobber exhausted her and wanted more.

Then Shilo got sick, and a few months in, they figured she was pregnant. A doctor confirmed it. Shilo turned to her sort-of caretaker for comfort and guidance. He was anything but a father, and he intended to keep it that way. Graverobber took off. She chased after him, grabbed onto his sleeve, and sank to her knees, a pitiful sight to behold.

"Wait, wait!" she sobbed. "Please. I want you to stay. Don't you… don't you want me?"

"Kid, I've an interest in you, not any baby. I'm out."

She was crushed, having grown to depend on him. "Please stay," she begged, burying her forehead in his sleeve like she was praying. And well she might have been.

"I'd love to." Love to continue having her, without consequences. "You want me to stay? You do something for me."

"I'll do anything. Anything."

"Get rid of it. Then come and find me."

"What do you mean?"

He then had to sit her down and explain how a doctor could fix their problems by killing the parasite in her womb. He'd even go so far as to take her there himself, and hold her hand through the procedure, if it scared her, if it would help her. Graverobber did care. Tearful, she asked if it would hurt very much, when they did it. Euphemistic speech made her less frightened. It made what would be concrete soon into vague conceptions.

Smiling, he said he hadn't the slightest idea, but it was probably a lot less hellish than childbirth. Not to mention he'd be there for her, before, during, after, thereafter.

She buckled, thank the Lord. They went back to normal, with the exception of a more rigorous stance on prevention of future accidents. With a bit more nudging, she underwent another surgery soon after the abortion to obliterate that possibility entirely. He loved her. At least, he loved keeping her, and he did not want to see her in pain, as she often was. Graverobber had her cure…

The first hit was free, and every hit after. Shilo's hair grew out and blossomed on its own with neon lights, and her body moved in time with all his other customers. Through the months, she remained his favored Zydrate user, and unfortunately, that meant he was losing money. Bills had to be paid for her place, and he made not a dime on what drugs he gave her out of love's pocket. So, naturally, he looked to her as a fresh, young source of income.

He'd still have her. He would not lose that possession. All it would do was multiply their income, not to mention the aversion it would instill in her of leaving him for another. If all other men in her bed were losers, or rough around the edges, then it would elevate him in her thoughts to a sexual entity of miraculous proportions.

Graverobber sat her down on the couch, stroked her hair as he would a housecat, which she was, more or less, even with her little part-time job. "Shi, we need to talk. I'll come right out and say that it is no longer feasible, fiscally, to go on as we have. There are bills to pay."

"I know, and we're trying. We always make ends meet, if only just," she said. "Don't we?"

"True enough, angel. Have you ever considered… prostitution?"

"In as much as I've considered going on an axe-crazed rampage." A beat. "That is to say, I have not. Why?"

"It might be… necessary," he said. "Dearest Shilo, you don't want to lose the house, now, do you?"

"Of course not. I could get a second job," she sputtered, tears filling her dark eyes. "We don't have to be drastic about this."

She would bend to his light pressure, as she always did. He put an arm around her and stroked her back soothingly. "There's nothing drastic about it. You get a second job at night… I'd worry about what could happen." Shuddering, she leaned against his chest. He put his mouth to her ear and murmured, "All sorts of terrible things happen to young girls in the night."

Enough, enough, she said, and began to cry as if her little heart was breaking. He kissed her cheek, her throat, held both her hands in one of his.

"You won't hate me," she asked. "Sleeping with other men."

"Women, too," he teased darkly. "No. It's just sex. Why would I mind?"

She shrugged. The rest of her worries were put to bed, and he put her down on the couch and showed his gratitude. She cried out louder than she ever had before, and afterwards, they said they loved each other. He told her nothing would change. They would continue as they had, in love, in lust, and perfectly, unevenly matched.

The one time she came home with a black eye, he went out in a rage, and put down the dog that dared lay a hand on Shilo in anger. Other than that, it went well. She learned to depersonalize, disassociate, lie back or get on her knees and do what she could for her little family unit. That's what they were, family, and they counted on each other. He gave her free Zydrate, he gave her love, and she gave her all to bring in enough money for them to have a comfortable money. And, having spent nights with clumsy or rough strangers, she appreciated his touch all the more. She craved it, in fact, as desperately as if it cleansed her of the experiences she no longer wished to speak of.

Because at first, that's all they'd done, talk about it. Talk about did he love her, did he care, what if she was raped or killed. To set her ceaseless mind at ease, he'd given her some weapons: stun gun, switchblade. He'd taught her where to hit a person to render them into a world of unspeakable pain. Ever the good student, she'd added her own flair to his moves.

Shilo went missing. He was frantic, looked everywhere for her. Nothing, not a trace. For a week, two weeks, he worried, raged, sat taciturn and cold in her bedroom, waiting for her to come back, since that was all he could do. Eventually, she came back, but it was not as he hoped. It was ended. Shilo was leaving him. She packed her bags, and there was a resolute way she held her back straight and tall that made him oddly proud of her, even while he tried to sweet talk her into staying, remaining with him all the days of her life. Continuing on.

"Nothing's changed," he said to her, but more to convince himself. "You don't have to move on."

"Yes. I must." She refused to touch him, ducked when he tried to kiss her. "I'm selling the house. We're leaving. Moving. That'll fetch enough money for a shot at real happiness. It's for the best."

This cut at him, and he tried not to show it. She, too, was leaving him. Everyone left him. "We?" he questioned.

"See for yourself." A nod to the window.

Looking down, he saw a young man waiting outside the gates, leaning on his car. Out of his arms, into another's.