The return of Barry and Kate, by popular demand! :D
Not to get your hopes up - this IS simply a one-shot, as the summary says. A long one-shot, but nowhere as long as, say, the ten chapters of the first fic, Sixty-Six. I originally planned a full-length sequel, but various instances of fail and life intervened... however, I will say there is at least one more follow-up one-shot in the future for my fellow Barry fans. So rejoice, and do not despair... you have not seen the last of these two yet. :)
This one takes place directly after the final chapter of Sixty-Six, after Barry and Kate have already acquired our favorite killer some real clothes (we can't have him walking around in only Falman's coat forever, can we?... The answer I'm looking for here is NO). This is the same day as the shopping spree, just a bit later. Oh, and a reminder in case anyone forgot, Connor is Kate's brother. He gets mentioned somewhere in here, so I thought I'd throw that out there, just in case you forgot his name or something. :)
Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I WRITE, THEREFORE I OWN! Except not really. I only own Kate (and Connor), and she would probably object to that statement if I asked. Which is why I don't.
Barry stretched out a hand, turning it and looking at it strangely, as if it were unfamiliar, like a new butcher's knife that he had yet to break in. "Y'know, it's a funny feeling."
Kate watched him as she idly plucked at random blades of grass. "What is?"
He flexed his fingers, which were long and almost delicate now, more like a pianist's hands than a butcher's. "Being able to feel again. Being… alive."
It hadn't taken long to purchase a new wardrobe for Barry; he was much more concerned with killing than being dressed to kill, and he was generally cooperative (except for occasionally hinting that the salespeople would make good murder victims) and let Kate decide on most of the purchases. After getting him properly dressed, returning Falman's coat and dropping the new clothes off at the apartment, Kate had decided on an impulse to take Barry out to an abandoned field she'd once discovered on the outskirts of town, a nice and quiet secret place where they would be unlikely to run into other people.
There wasn't much to it: just a scattering of trees, a fallen log here and there, and a small lake (more of a pond, really) near the center of the clearing. When Barry had asked why she'd brought him there, she'd simply replied, "It's a nice day out." But the truth of it was, she wanted to take him out somewhere where he could appreciate his newly acquired body in peace, without putting any civilians in danger or raising too many questions from the neighbors.
He hadn't seemed to be overly enjoying his return to flesh and blood at first, but after sitting together near the lake for a while, he had finally spoken up, and his voice didn't sound quite so hysterical as it usually did. She wondered what it was really like, being able to feel again after so many years of feeling nothing at all. Feeling sunshine on your face for the first time, or the grass beneath your feet, or the cool air moving across your face…
Of course, the trade-off was that he would also be able to feel pain again. And being human meant being much more vulnerable than a metal suit of armor.
"Want to go swimming?" she asked; it was a warm day out, and the water looked cool and refreshing. "Bet you forgot what water feels like." Then she realized the foolishness of the idea, just a second late. "Wait – that was stupid of me. You can't."
Barry frowned at her, like a kid pouting after a toy was taken away. "What? Why not?"
"The blood-seal." She had been hasty, and it had been a quick, temporary fix. But she knew simply drawing a transmutation circle in blood on his chest would not suffice in the long run. She knew also what the obvious solution was, but she didn't like it at all, and she had the feeling Barry would like it even less. "It'd wash off in a heartbeat. You had enough trouble just getting a shirt on without ruining it." She should know; it had been so long since he'd buttoned up a shirt, she had ended up having to help him with it.
"Not exactly your best work," he remarked. "I do hope you plan on coming up with a better solution – preferably before this one wears off? I know you have a penchant for procrastination, but I think in this case, sooner would definitely be better. I kind of like this body, you know; it would be a shame to have to part from it after so short an acquaintance."
He was right, of course. But it didn't make the job ahead of her any easier. "I do have a solution."
"Oh-ho, really? I'm all ears."
She forced herself to look him in the eye. "Blood-runes wash off… but scars are permanent."
He looked at her blankly for a moment. Then, "Oh… Oh. I see."
"I don't have any anesthetics; I don't even know if I could get some from the hospital, but I'll try," she said quickly, before he could begin to protest. "If not, I could knock you out, I guess. I'll – I'll do it as fast as possible, I promise. You won't feel a thing."
But the protest she had been expecting never came. Instead, he leered at her, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, lunatic light. "What a delightful idea. It's about time you came 'round."
Kate blanched. "What in hell are you…"
"You've been dying to try it out, haven't you?" Barry held up his knife, twirling it with the carelessness of an artist familiar with his tool. "Ever since you first picked it up. You can't resist, can you? I knew you couldn't!"
"Oh, shut up," Kate snapped. "The only reason I'm suggesting this is because there isn't any other choice! I'm no tattoo artist, and there's no other way to make it permanent. I don't want – and to think I was worried – ugh!"
She shoved herself to her feet with a grunt, angry with him and angrier still with herself for being concerned on his behalf. She should have known better. She would have to do better than this, if she was going to live with him. For the thousandth time that day, she wondered what had gone wrong in her head, to make her do something as crazy and stupid as agreeing to watch over him.
"Worried? About me? Why?" asked Barry, his eyebrows raised as he watched her pace across the grass.
She snorted. "Hell if I know." But she knew it wasn't all about him. She hated the idea of carving into living flesh, no matter whose it was, no matter the cause. It gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach just thinking about it. And yet… and yet…
She couldn't help wondering what it would feel like: to hold the knife, to feel it gliding smoothly across bare skin, to watch the blood welling up like pure extract of a philosopher's stone…
I'm never going to survive this, she thought, looking at him and feeling something dangerously close to fear. He's already starting to get in my head. Why did I do this to myself? Why did I put myself in this situation?
But she knew it was pointless questioning a decision that had already been made and could not be taken back now. All she could do was move forward on the path she had chosen. "Gimme the knife."
He at her outstretched hand, then at her face. He snatched his knife away, clinging to it like a greedy child refusing to share a favorite toy. "No."
She had been afraid of this. "Barry…"
"No – I'm Barry the Chopper, Barry the Butcher! I'm not meat, I'M THE ONE WITH THE CLEAVER!" he shrieked, and scrambled backwards away from her when she lunged for the knife. "I'm the one who does the carving around here!"
He fought to get to his feet, and Kate, rather than get into a wrestling match with an armed serial killer, instead drew her gloves out of her pocket and yanked them on. As he raised his blade, she slammed her hands together and into the ground. A crack appeared in the earth, and the ground shook just enough to knock him back off balance and onto his back on the grass. He hit the ground hard with a thud, exhaling sharply as the breath was knocked out of him.
Taking advantage of his temporary immobility, Kate knelt beside him and seized the knife. With the tip, she carved four small transmutation circles near his arms and legs; activating each caused the earth beneath them to rise up and curve over his wrists and ankles, binding him to the ground with small stone cuffs.
"Forceful, aren't we?" he remarked, his voice high-pitched with hysteria as he got his breath back and began struggling against the restraints.
"Sorry, but either you let me do this, or you take your chances with death. And I'm not giving you a choice." She removed her gloves, putting them back into her pocket and trying not to wince as he writhed and strained to escape. "I'll make it up to you," she blurted out, wanting to say something, anything, to stop his protests and theatrics.
Sure enough, that got his attention. He fell still, staring at her. "What now? How?"
"Er…" She floundered; she hadn't thought that far, and was regretting it already. "What do you want?"
His eyes flicked to the blade in her hand, then back to her. The corner of his mouth twitched.
She felt the knot in her stomach tighten. "No. I am not going to let you chop me up. Try again."
"Tit for tat," he retorted in a soft, sing-song voice. "It's only fair – I'll only cut you as much as you cut me."
The hair was beginning to stand up on the back of her neck. "No," she said firmly. "No way in hell." She paused. "I can buy you a new knife."
"Don't want one. Mine is perfectly wonderful, and more importantly, MINE." He looked at it meaningfully.
"Then… I could buy you a new knife-sharpening kit." She was reaching, she knew, but she had no idea what else she could offer.
Luckily, this seemed to appeal to him. He paused, thinking it over carefully, possibly considering what requests he could add on to her offer.
"Barry, listen. I'm not going to hurt you." She mentally kicked herself. "Well – all right, it's gonna hurt. But I'll make it as quick and painless as possible. It won't take long. This isn't a big deal, all right? So, the knife-sharpener – take it or leave it."
He frowned.
"Going once… going twice…"
"Fine!" he exclaimed. It was clear she meant to carry out her plan one way or the other, and Barry was not about to pass up on a free sharpening kit. His cleaver was due for a good tune-up, anyway. It didn't seem like equivalent exchange to him, but it was certainly better than getting nothing at all.
Besides, he realized, her reaction to all of this was going to be absolutely glorious to watch. If he could just focus on that, instead of the pain…
She began unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers were cool against his bare skin.
"Oooh, do I make you nervous?" He giggled a little. "Your hands are shaking."
"No they're not." Kate gritted her teeth, willing her hands to steady as she bared his chest and stared at the blood-seal. At least it wasn't a particularly complicated transmutation circle; it would not be too hard to trace over, if she could just keep steady long enough to get the job done.
Curious, remembering the way he had shuddered as a suit of armor when she had touched it, she pressed her hand lightly against the circle. She thought she felt him tremble, and his expression turned uncharacteristically disturbed. He jerked away from her touch.
"I told you not to do that!" he complained. "It doesn't feel right!"
"Just wondering if it felt the same now that you've got a body, that's all. What does it feel like, anyway?"
He looked away, his nose scrunched up with distaste. "Weird – I dunno, it's like you're too close to me or somethin'. It's freaky." He shook his head, clearly dissatisfied with his choice of words but unable to find more suitable ones.
She raised an eyebrow at that. "In a way, I guess I'm sort of… touching your soul, or something. I can't pretend to imagine what that feels like… but I guess it would be… well, weird."
"Well, if we ripped your soul out of your body and attached it to a suit of armor, you could feel it for yourself. I'm sure that would be tons of fun."
"No thanks. I'm good." Trying not to think about what she was about to do, she said, "Lie still, and shut up. Whatever you do, don't move."
To her surprise, he did as she said, watching her keenly as she leaned over him, knife in hand and her face full of uncertainty.
"Well, now, that's interesting," he said.
She hesitated, secretly grateful for any excuse to wait, even if only for a few extra seconds. "What?"
"You never acted afraid of me before – except when I had my knife at your throat, of course," he added, with a brief smirk, "but you sure look scared now. You should look at me like that more often, it suits you."
"I'm not scared of you, you idiot. I just… I don't wanna screw up. And in spite of what you say, I'm not looking forward to this at all. I don't…" She clenched her jaw.
"Take a moment to really look at it – look at the way it reflects the sunlight just so, and just imagine what it'll look like once it's got some blood on it… Oooh, it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside just talking about it!"
"Shut it," she interjected, "or I'll never get through this." She gripped the knife tightly, her knuckles turning white as she held it over his chest. She could see the reflection of the dried blood-rune on his chest on the side of the blade, and for a moment her heart tripped over itself.
She felt him tense, bracing himself for the first cut. "Just do it!"
She swallowed hard, and forced her hand down, fast but not forcefully, piercing the flesh but not deeply. Barry winced, and she flinched in response, and tried hard not to look at his face. She began to trace the blood-seal, feeling the horrible drag as the edge of the knife tore through his new, sensitive skin, then (even worse) feeling the friction disappear as the blade became slick with blood.
Barry's hands clenched into fists, and he grimaced, but his eyes were alight with a mad delirium as he watched the bloody marring of his chest mirrored in her gaze. He could see, even if she would not admit it, a mortified kind of fascination mixed with the horror she felt, and he thought he could guess part of what she was thinking.
"Surprisingly easy, isn't it?" he said. "Like cutting through butter. The outside is easy – it's the muscle and bone inside that make you really work for it."
She paled a little, but was too busy concentrating now to respond. She was almost done; all she needed to do was trace a few final little details, and the circle would be complete. Then she could bandage it, and wash the blood off her hands…
She was going to have nightmares about this for weeks, she just knew it.
"I hate you," she muttered under her breath.
"Oh really? And here I thought you…" The rest of the sentence turned into a half-groan when she pressed the knife down a little too sharply by accident.
"Ack – sorry!" She finished the final touches up quickly, and tossed the knife aside, ignoring his immediate protest to her treatment of his beloved weapon. "There, done. Finally. I grabbed some bandages when we were back at the apartment, I wasn't sure when I was going to do it so I took them just in case…" She was rambling now as she dug the gauze out of her pocket and, after breaking down the restraints on his wrists, helped him sit up. "That's why I wanted to clean your knife before we left, too, I wanted to make sure it was sterilized so we wouldn't have to worry about an infection. I don't even know how good your immune system is in this body, especially when it's still so new…"
"How did it feel?" he interrupted.
She blinked. "What?"
He pressed her hand over the new blood-seal, staining both of their hands red. She felt him shudder, but he did not move away as he had before, and, faintly, she sensed his pulse. It was almost as frantic as her own, though for different reasons. "How did it feel? Carving into living flesh for the first time, watching the blood run beneath the blade, knowing if you pressed just a little harder…"
"I hated it," she said automatically.
"Not all of it," he insisted. "Some small part of you enjoyed it."
"You're wrong. Stop screwing with me, and just say thank-you, dammit." She pulled her hand away, shivering a little at the feel of warm, wet blood between her fingers. "And if you say another word like that today, I swear I'll drown you in that lake over there."
He watched her, amused, as she wiped the blood off on her pants and began bandaging his chest. Despite her harsh words, she worked carefully, doing her best to cover the wound well while causing him as little pain as possible. It intrigued him that she should go to such trouble.
"You really do like fixing stuff, don't you?"
She pursed her lips, doing her best to ignore the impulse to heal the wounds she had just made. It bothered her to have to let it heal slowly by natural means. "You should know. You were the one who said it was my curse, or something like that."
"What happens when you can't fix something?"
It was a long moment before she answered. "I haven't had that problem in a very, very long time. I don't give up easily."
"Hmm. I see."
He became quiet again as she continued working. When she was done with the bandages, she began to button his shirt back up, taking care not to press against his new wounds. "I'm sorry," she said at length.
"For what, exactly?"
"I should have thought of this before. If I had made this mark before transferring your soul, I wouldn't have had to do it now, when you can feel it. So whether it matters to you or not, I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
He blinked. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had felt the need to apologize to him for anything. Of course, before he met Kate, most of his encounters with people in the past had generally involved more bloodshed than conversation. Even if those people had had something to say, they were not usually given much of a chance to say it before they died.
"And another thing…" she continued. "I was wondering… was it worth it?" She looked up at him as she finished with the last button. "I saved you because I wanted to, and I did the only thing I could think of in order to do it. But when you were armor, you said you were invincible. It's too late now for it to make a difference, but… would you rather be 'invincible,' or human?"
"Hmm… What an interesting question."
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows drawn together as he thought it over. He had never had a choice when it came to his body: the military had forced him to become armor, and when he had become human again, it had really been Kate's decision, not his. It had therefore never mattered which he preferred, and no one had bothered to ask.
"Well, the nice thing about being made of metal is that it's terribly difficult to get killed, unless you really try."
She shot him a pointed look.
"Or unless you piss off a homunculus. The point is, it's kind of convenient, being a big, strong suit of armor instead of some weak, flimsy little human." He spread out his fingers again, pointedly drawing attention to how thin they were compared to the bulkier hands of his previous bodies. "Human beings are really quite the fragile creatures – I should know, I've broken quite a few of them myself." The corner of his lip curled up in dark amusement.
She tried to ignore that last comment. "But it's a mixed blessing, isn't it? Or… did I make a mistake, giving you a human body again? Not that we had a choice. If I hadn't, you would have…" She didn't bother to finish the thought.
He cast her a sidelong glance, leaning back on his hands. "Oh, but you did have a choice, didn't you? You didn't have to save me. Wouldn't it have been more convenient for everyone if you'd just let me do things my way?"
She frowned. "You know, you're a lot nosier now that you're human again. I thought I was the one with all the questions."
"Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to do, huh? You won't let me kill, let alone maim anyone, and there's not even any potential prey walking around to imagine chopping up!" He gestured with a huge, sweeping motion of his arm at the empty field around them.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever think about anything other than killing people?" she demanded.
"What else IS there?"
She sighed, and ran a hand through her cropped, rust-colored hair. "You know, lots of people get by just fine without committing murder on a regular basis."
"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean they don't think about it. You think about it, don't you?"
"Right now I am." She glared at him. "There's more to life than butchery and blood and death."
"Perhaps – but without death, life would be meaningless!" he cackled.
She opened her mouth to shoot back some snappy retort, but caught herself. Surprisingly, he was right. "Yeah… but..." She didn't know why she was bothering with having this conversation at all; it was doubtful it would lead anywhere productive. But she couldn't seem to keep her mouth shut. "But you know, there wouldn't be death without life."
He shrugged. "I suppose."
She glanced at his chest. "But then… there wouldn't be pain without life. After you die, there is no more pain… well, hopefully, anyway." Her eyes met his, shards of blue sky staring into a dark storm. "Barry, for a minute there, when I moved your soul into this body… I thought I'd lost you. Do you remember what it was like, being between bodies? Were you… dead?"
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "Nope, don't remember. It was like falling asleep – one minute I was a suit of armor, and when I woke up, I was this guy. Why did you pick this body for me, anyway? It's kind of… scrawny." He eyed his arms uncertainly, like a critic sizing up a work of art.
A small smirk tugged at Kate's mouth. "I think you're kinda cute now. Your previous body looked like a big sweaty caveman or something – it didn't fit your voice at all."
"So what? You sayin' I sound like a girly boy now?"
"No," she laughed, "but you don't sound like a Neanderthal either. You sound like… I dunno, not weak, but… not as threatening as, say, a wrestler or something. More creepy than intimidating, if you get my meaning."
Apparently he didn't. "NOT INTIMIDATING? My dear, may I remind you that I AM A TERRIFYING SERIAL KILLER—"
She slapped her hand over his mouth before he could work himself up to his full potential. "Shut it. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten." She could still clearly recall the cold shock of feeling his knife against her throat, only hours before, though it seemed now like a lifetime ago. "But you've really gotta stop shouting about it like that. The idea from here on out is to lay low, got it? If you start running around announcing to the whole world who you are, it's gonna make it a hell of a lot more difficult to stay safe and out of jail."
He said something in reply, but with her hand still over his mouth, it was muffled and unclear.
She moved her hand. "What was that?"
"I said, we don't have to worry about that. I'll just kill anyone who finds out too much."
She swallowed a lump in her throat as an image of Maes Hughes floated in the back of her mind. Hughes, who had always made her laugh. Hughes, who had a wife and little girl, and who had been murdered for knowing too much. "No. You're not killing anymore, remember? Not ever, if I can help it."
"You've got to be kidding me!" He shoved himself up onto his feet, stumbling a little as he adjusted to the balance of a body he wasn't yet used to. "I kill therefore I AM, remember? That's what I do, it's who I am – what was the point of saving me if you're not going to let me live?"
Kate stood up too, noting that Barry's knife still lay on the ground where she'd cast it aside; it was just off to the side of her left foot, closer to her than to him. "I told you there was more to life than killing people! You can fantasize all you want, you can even talk about it when no one's around, but this is a new life now for both of us. I'm giving up half of everything I am for your sake; this is the least you can do!" She hadn't realized she was shouting until she startled a bird out of the tree branches over their heads.
Barry cocked his head to the side. "What are you talking about? What are you giving up?"
She set her jaw, her hands clenched into fists as she tried to look stronger than she felt. It had been lurking in the back of her mind all day, and she knew by now what she was going to have to do – but she had been trying to put off really thinking about it until the following day.
"I'm… resigning."
"…What?"
She sighed. "Connor and I joined the military because of our father. He died during the war with Ishval. We were younger then, and we thought he was a war-hero, and we barged ahead without thinking. It wasn't till later we realized what happened in Ishval wasn't some civil uprising gone wrong; it was a massacre. Our father didn't want to be there, but he was a soldier, and he did what he had to do to survive. We almost resigned when we realized the truth, but in the end we decided to stay – not out of loyalty to the military, but because we thought we could change things. Connor said he wanted to research ways to make life better for Amestrians, and I… when I met Roy, I realized what he was planning, and I decided to help him. I believed he could change things for the better. I still do."
Barry blinked. "All right… but what's that got to do with anything?"
"I'm explaining, so you understand what I'm giving up when I say… I'm going to retire from the military." The words almost physically hurt, like trying to swallow needles. "If it ever gets out, who you are, what I've done… we're not the only ones who would suffer. Roy would be held responsible; the entire team could be in jeopardy. It would ruin everything. And I can't let that happen." She closed her eyes. "Besides, not being a state alchemist means I'll be able to move more freely; I won't have to worry about completing missions, or meeting deadlines, or turning in paperwork.
"And that brings me to my second point." She sighed. "I'm selling my apartment. I'm not poor, but once money stops coming in from headquarters, it won't be long before I'm down to pocket change. Selling my place will give us some financial security, for a while anyway."
"What about when that money runs out? And where are we supposed to live?"
"We'll travel. And I'll use my alchemy to earn a living." She opened her eyes again; they were dry now, and clearer than before. "Whether I have a state-certified title or not, I'm still the Reconstructing Alchemist. Fixing stuff is what I do, and there's always something broken that wants fixing. I hear Liore is still in the process of rebuilding; I figure we can head there, and see what work we can find."
"Huh… Sounds like you got it all figured out." He bent down to retrieve his knife; Kate tensed, and half-reached for it before she decided against it. She let him take it, and was rewarded by this small gesture of trust when he simply put it away again. "Of course, if you just let me go, you wouldn't have to go to all that trouble. Just tell them I escaped, and…"
Kate put her hands on her hips. "No way. You'll just start killing again – I won't have that blood on my hands. And then you'll be caught, and executed, and all the trouble I've already been through to keep you alive would be wasted. No, you're staying with me. Got it?"
"I do love a strong woman," Barry grinned.
She made a face. "Ew. Don't do that. Just say yes, you understand."
Barry rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."
She wanted to ask why it was so (relatively) easy to convince him, when he was the one with the knife. He could easily have gotten away by now, she realized, standing in an open field as they were. All he had to do was outrun her long enough to get out of sight, and it would be over. She wanted to know what made him so agreeable, when it would be so easy to leave. It was true she had done a lot for him, but was he really the kind of person who cared about that sort of thing?
Then again, she wondered if it was, perhaps, one of those things better left unsaid; a connection so fragile that words might break it. As long as he went along with her plans, she supposed that was good enough. For now, anyway.
She wondered how long it would all last.
"What now?"
She looked at him. "I guess… Let's go home. I've got a lot to do before we leave, and the sooner the better. You can help me clean the place up." When he frowned, she added, "And then later, if you're helpful, you can help me make dinner. I could make stew; you can slice up the meat and vegetables for me."
His eyes lit up. "Really? Now – is the meat you're referring to still living and breathing, or…"
"It's in the freezer," she said, her tone flat and full of scorn. "Don't get too excited, bud."
He sighed. "It was too good to be true, I knew it."
She shook her head and turned away. "Come on." They walked together back across the field towards the road. "Hey… what's your favorite food?"
"Huh?"
"It's been a long time since you've been able to eat. Your first meal should be something you really enjoy." She didn't look at him; she kept her eyes straight ahead, though she felt him looking at her quizzically. "So… what's your favorite? I'll make whatever you like."
There was a long pause. "I don't remember," he said, his voice unusually quiet.
She risked a quick glance sideways: there it was, the same shadow that crossed his face whenever he thought about the day he'd become a lab rat. In spite of what he said, it seemed at least a part of him resented what had been done to him. She wondered how long it had been since he'd felt… anything.
She touched his arm. "Well, I'm betting you're a meat-lovin' man, so I'll stick with the original plan. Beef stew, heavy on the beef; sound good?"
"As long as I get to use my cleaver," he said, but he seemed happier now, and she figured she'd said the right thing.
"As long as you promise you'll only use it on the ingredients, and not the cook."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Who says you don't count as an ingredient?"