Disclaimer: I don't own iTill the End of Time/i or the character of Charry. Till the End of Timebelongs to tri-Ace and Square Enix, and Charry belongs to CharryBlossom on deviantArt. Charry used with permission.

Author's Notes: This is a gift story for Charry in exchange for the lovely fan art she presented me. (I'm so sorry it's late!) I'm hoping I got Charry's character right.

Things weren't looking good, Charry decided. A trail of blood led away from where she and Albel stood, and it stopped at the feet of both Fayt and the Creator. More of it trickled from a wound to her arm and her side. Next to her Albel leaned against his sword, a long but shallow-looking gash running across his abdomen. His chest heaved up and down as he struggled to catch his breath, and his red eyes, which were already fearsome to begin with, glinted with anger, frustration, danger, and hints of worry. So she noticed when she glanced at her fellow swordsman from the corner of her eye . . . when she dared to look at him.

A weak cough caught Charry's attention, and she tightened her grip on her sword. Fayt leaned against the Creator, his arms hanging like limp noodles at his sides. His sword had long since fell to the ground. The only support he appeared to have in his current condition was the hand Luther had around Fayt's throat, but he still breathed. His eyes fluttered in an effort to remain conscious, but it was a losing battle. Charry didn't believe for a second that the Creator's grip on her companion was gentle. Blue eyes glared ice needles at the duo, and a cruel smirk graced Luther's lips.

"This," he said in a low voice, "was almost a challenge for me . . . almost. Too bad the fun has to come to an end."

"Oh, I don't think so, worm," Albel said with a sneer. "I think you can stay for a while longer and continue to entertain us."

"And why would I do that?" Luther asked. "I have what I came after."

"We're not going to let you take Fayt!" Charry said, her eyes narrowing at the blond. He raised an eyebrow at her and Albel.

"Whoever said you had a choice in the matter," he said, his voice like venomous silk. Charry and Albel lunged forward at him, and Luther took a step backwards. As he did, a strong gust of wind and snow billowed around him.

"Don't . . ."

Fayt's words were lost in the roar of the winds Luther brought upon them, and the snow obscured their vision. Laughter, cruel and mocking, echoed off of the rocks as Fayt and Luther vanished from sight. Charry shielded her eyes from the onslaught of snow and stinging wind, waiting for them to subside. When they didn't, however, she blindly reached for Albel. She didn't want to lose track of him, not in light of the unexpected defeat against Luther.

A cool, metallic hand clamped down on her shoulder, nearly startling her. In an instant, Charry knew who it was, and she latched onto Albel as steadfastly as she could. They trudged through the snow, using each other as shields against the raging winds.

How long they walked through the storm, Charry couldn't be certain. She only was aware of the heaviness in her arms and legs and the exhaustion creeping through her bones . . . as well as the dwindling heat from Albel's body. Eventually, she noticed that the wind didn't rip and bite at her any longer, and the snow didn't freeze her to the core. A warm fire crackled nearby.

"Fall asleep on me, wench, and I'll be sure to find a way to make you regret it."

Charry lifted her head.

"Where are we?" she asked, her words slurring together.

"In one of the King's outposts in the mountains," the Glyphian replied. Something heavy lay on top of her. She heard the chattering of teeth. "We'll be safe here until this storm dissipates."

"If it dissipates," she muttered under her breath. She wanted to sleep, wanted to tell Albel to shut up and let her sleep, but she also didn't want to think of what he would do to her in order to keep her awake. By now, her body temperature had dropped low, and Charry, as well as Albel, knew it. He slipped under the blanket next to her. "What are you doing?"

"It will," Albel said. "Storms like this aren't unusual in these lands. I'm sure that blasted fool Luther knew this when he decided to attack us. And we both need to keep warm or else we'll both die. How do you Earthlings manage to survive?"

"You sure he didn't just conjure it up?" Charry chose to ignore his remark on Earthlings. She wasn't like most others from Earth. She knew from her experiences as a bounty hunter how the weather could be one's ally and foe all at the same time. She was just surprised that Albel chose to crawl under the blanket with her instead of sitting next to the fire. Then again, they were alone.

"I . . . I don't know," Albel said. "The worm is the Creator. It is possible."

"What do you think he wanted with Fayt?"

To that, Albel only sighed.

"Probably what every other person in this universe wants," he replied. "Fayt's powers." He sighed. "It's all that wench's fault. If she hadn't insisted on that . . . what was it again?"

"Mistletoe," Charry replied.

"Yes, that wretched little weed, we wouldn't be in this predicament," Albel said with a hiss. "What's so blasted important about an insignificant weed anyway?"

Charry said nothing for a moment. Albel's words were a crushing reminder of how different their two worlds were when it came to traditions and holidays. In truth, she didn't quite understand the need for the mistletoe herself, but Sophia had insisted upon having some as she (and Peppita) introduced their Elicoorian friends to Christmas. Fayt, the ever kind soul that he was, agreed to retrieve it for his childhood friend, much to Albel's (and Charry's) dismay. She inhaled a deep breath before whispering softly, "It's for kissing."

"What?"

"It's for kissing, mistletoe," Charry said. She wriggled her fingers to bring some warmth back to them. "When you see someone standing under it, you're supposed to kiss them."

"Hmmph, what a waste of time," Albel said. "If she's that desperate to get him into her bed, why doesn't she just strip naked for everyone to see? I think that would be far more effective for someone like her."

Charry couldn't help but giggle. She agreed with her fellow swordsman. Sophia's desires for mistletoe made her obvious, and, of course, Maria was all too willing to play along. Both of the younger girls were quite smitten with Fayt (not that Charry blamed them – Fayt was a rather attractive and intelligent young man; he just wasn't her type), so much so, they were trying to outdo each other on this whole Christmas thing. It annoyed Charry that they were behaving like such . . . girls over one guy who remained clueless about the true intentions of their endeavors! The only reason she hadn't protested celebrating was, in fact, because of Fayt. Everyone knew he had lost both of his parents in the chaos from the Creator's decree. He, more than anyone, deserved some kind of happiness around this time of year. Instead, he wouldn't be celebrating with his friends. He was a prisoner of the Creator, all because Sophia wanted mistletoe, something that grew in a remote region of Airyglyph. Still, there was something about mistletoe that Charry found to be attractive and festive, though she would never admit as much to Albel.

"Still," Albel continued, his tone becoming thoughtful, "I suppose it would be an . . . interesting way to get revenge upon someone . . ."

"How do you mean?" Charry asked. There were plenty of things she knew could be done with mistletoe and an unsuspecting person.

"We've got some time before we'll be able to leave," Albel murmured. "Why not come up with a few things to pass the time?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Charry said. "And, while we're at it, come up with a way to rescue Fayt from Luther."