Warning: Slightly graphic descriptions of wounds. Also deaths and all that fun stuff :)

Something old…

She'd say she had never expected for Mal to get down on one knee and pull out a ring, but then she'd be lying. Natara Williams was a professional criminal profiler. She often knew what her person of interest would do before they even knew of it themselves.

This time was of no difference. Mal was indubitably not a criminal, though. No, he was far from it; he was one of the most altruistic men she knew. But she could still pick up the signs. The time he spent fiddling with something in his pocket. The determined, yet evidently nervous look in his eyes. The little kisses he had often placed on her left hand, on her ring finger. The way their lips met, evolving from something mischievous and flirtatious to something filled with passion, respect, and emotion.

And somehow, seeing all of this coming, its arrival was still a surprise.

She had thought about it long beforehand. Of the millions of reasons why she should accept, and a million more on why she should refuse. But having him down on one knee like this, with his hair moving ever so slightly in the cool, night breeze, framing his beautiful face and his wide, hopeful eyes—there was no way she could have said no. All her prior reasoning had been lost, and all that Natara could think about was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this man, and how happy they would be together.

It was like her decision was already made, from the moment their eyes first landed on each other those many years ago.

"It's my mom's wedding ring," he said, sliding it onto her finger as she tearfully nodded her assent. "Been in my family for generations. And now… it's yours."

She had never felt such unyielding joy in her life.

She has never felt such unyielding pain in her life.

Tears cascade down her face, persistent and pertinacious. The drops of salted misery land on her broken hands, running along her torn skin and soaking through the crack in the crystal center-stone of the wedding ring.

It burns, as if her own tears are acid, but nothing can compare to the raw, scalding, crippling pain in her chest as she surveys the ravaged scene.

Something new…

Natara twirled around in her effulgent new wedding dress. The soft silk gave a sense of exaltation against her skin, and she was excited. Excited beyond belief, the delight growing with each passing second, rising and filling her up with an uncontainable energy.

"You look beautiful, sis."

She turned around, smiling at the group gathered around her. Blaise, Amy, Neha, and her mother. At least three of them had begun to tear up, and the fourth was staring apprehensively at the small cobweb in the corner of the room.

"Blaise? Are you alright…?

The blonde's head snapped up at her name, and she reluctantly looked away from the web. Her eyes widened as she let out a low whistle.

"Oh damn, Natara, you're gorgeous. Mal will not be able to take his hands off of you afterwards."

The blood rose to Natara's cheeks at those words. She had never thought of herself as particularly beautiful, but she was always confident that she wasn't hideous or appalling in society's eyes.

A little smirk played on her lips as she spotted something small and black crawl up the dressing room mirror.

"Oh, and Blaise?"

"Hmm?"

"Spider."

Spider. It's the same spider that scuttles across the floor right now, towards the woman whose entire frame shakes with indomitable sobs. Unafraid, it climbs onto the edge of Natara's dress.

The once shining cloth is now stained with splatters that cannot be washed away. The white silk and lace have been replaced with blood and sweat, and the delicate beading with her tears.

She wipes her wet and trembling hands on the fabric, adding more to the damage.

Even in its current devastated state, the dress is still soft. Soft and warm and smelling slightly of lilac, reminding her of everything that she can't ever have again.

Something borrowed…

Walking down the aisle in time to the music, she felt as though her very spirit had been lifted from her body. The overwhelming rapture was too much too take; she had never felt this way before, not at her graduation, nor any of her birthdays, nor her almost-wedding with Oscar.

While passing the 'Dashing DA' himself, Natara smiled, hoping that everything was alright. She was met with an encouraging smile of his own; completely genuine and lacking the old despondency that used to be there every time their gazes met.

He was happy for her. She was content, and that was all that mattered to him.

And with time, he moved on.

Her father led her towards the altar, squeezing her hand in his. Raj Mansingh was giving away his eldest daughter to a man he finally approved of. If you were to ask him, he would have defensively claimed that he hadn't shed a single tear himself.

But he did give something else to the soon-to-be married couple. Strapped to daughter's leg, under the thin layers of the wedding dress, was a Col. 9mm Parabellum handgun.

She had borrowed it from her father for the occasion. Its thin, metal barrel was cool to the touch, providing a feeling of assurance and safety.

Just in case.

Just in case there's anything in the room left that can be of use to her, she lifts her head to scan the grand hall with much effort.

These efforts are to no avail, for the only thing she spots is the pistol. It lies on the ground ten feet away from her, shattered into more than eight different pieces. The shiny black metal gleams under the lights, completely useless to her.

She has run out of options; he's too smart. He knows her too well, and has thought of every possible escape of hers and blocked it.

There's nothing she can do.

… and something blue.

The steps leading up to the altar were steep, but to her, they were nothing. The only thing Natara wanted was to be there, holding his hand, looking into those clear blues.

Reaching the top, Mal embraced her in his arms. His resplendent, azure eyes stared lovingly into hers.

His faded, azure eyes, no longer so resplendent, stare lifelessly at the blank space before him. The entirety of his chest has been slashed open, with two deep lines crossing each other to form a large 'X'. The red is more prominent upon his navy suit then it should be, spilling from his skin, soaking through his clothes, and pooling on the tiles beneath him.

One glance at the wound is all it takes for her to confirm that he's gone. The flesh is torn beyond repair, the cuts going deep enough to carve into the pale white of his ribcage. Beyond that, she catches a glimpse of something, dark, crimson, and the size of a fist.

His still heart, not to ever beat again.

"No…"

Natara trails a damaged finger along Mal's cheek.

A kiss on his cold lips. A kiss not returned.

She doesn't even flinch as he reaches towards her and wraps a cool hand gently around her throat. Dingy white hair and wrinkled old hands—he is back, and she didn't see it coming.

"Now Nat, are you purposefully ignoring what I said to you? Or do you just need reminding?" His voice is raucous to her ears, but she cannot do anything to stop it.

All of her willpower is gone, gone with the man she loves.

"You're mine, Nat. You always were, and always will be. There will be nobody else; there can't be anybody else." A twisted smile. "Understand?"

Her hands stained scarlet and her conviction broken, she tearfully nods her assent.