That fateful night still haunted Dylan's mind. A full year had passed since she watched the Thin Man, Anthony, fall to his death off the roof of the Los Angeles Theater. She wouldn't have thought that he of all people could have such an effect on her, but night after night she dreamt of it, her heart ripping apart more every time. It had taken her a few weeks to realise that he had taken her heart with him when he fell; she loved him more than she had ever loved Seamus or Knox or Chad or any of the other guys she had fallen for. When she had finally admitted this to Natalie and Alex, to say that they were surprised would be an understatement. The two Angels suddenly found themselves unsure what to say to Dylan, who honestly couldn't blame them, because their best friend, who had been so strong, suddenly found herself feeling as fragile as if she were made of glass. Dylan herself was slowly becoming withdrawn, feeling lost and confused, having such strong feelings for a man who she barely knew. A man who had tried to kill her and her friends on more than one occasion. A man who was dead. She longed to know him, to understand his reasons for killing everyone that he had. His reasons for that kiss. That was the thing that haunted her the most: that tantalising kiss, the bonding of icy-cold on fiery warmth, the scent of tobacco and something like coffee on his skin. Finally, on the one-year anniversary of Anthony's death, she had made a small shrine in the back corner of her garden; her best attempt at closure. And that very same night, Dylan found herself standing in front of that shrine, silent tears streaming down her cheeks, mourning the loss of the one man who had captured her heart without saying a single word.
"Oh, Anthony. I wish things had been different. I wish I could have done more to protect you," Dylan whispered, rubbing his orphanage pendant between her fingers. After placing a single white rose on the ground in front of the cross, Dylan glanced up at the star-spattered night sky and then retreated into the house. Feeling as lost as ever, Dylan glanced ruefully at the pictures of herself and her friends, thinking how different she was to the woman in those photographs and wondering if she would ever be that same confident rebellious woman again. Probably not, she thought as she changed into a light t-shirt and shorts. Whatever happened to me having the heart of a rhino? Sighing, Dylan switched off the light and climbed into bed, tears soaking her pillow as they did so often nowadays. After a few minutes, her tears died away, and she drifted into a restless sleep, unaware of the figure watching her through the window.
It had taken Anthony almost half an hour to get Seamus' body off him, especially with the giant E on top of them both. Anthony was still amazed that he had somehow managed to survive not only being impaled by his own sword and throw ten stories to the pavement, but also having another man and a giant metal letter fall on top of him. The only theory that made any sense to him was that the sword had slowed both his and Seamus' impacts, and that Seamus had taken the full brunt of the giant letter. Either I'm very lucky, he thought as he watched Dylan's sleeping form through her bedroom window, or I have a higher destiny than just being an assassin. Anthony had never been comfortable with being an assassin; taking the lives of others simply for the money was not as appealing as some might be led to think. But he had his reasons for raising the money in the way he did; not only was he good at being an assassin, but he was able to keep the orphanage going. He was very grateful to that orphanage. They had taken him in, made him feel welcome in a way that the circus never had, even with his quirks. He had often heard Mother Superior wondering why he never spoke a word, occasionally wondering if there was some deep dark secret he wanted to keep from the world. In truth, Anthony had never found the need for words; they seemed pointless. When he did need to communicate, he found that a pen and some paper were sufficient. As for his fascination with hair, well, he never was quite sure why he liked it so much. Sometimes it seemed to symbolise the person whom it belonged to, their scent, their touch. But when he had captured a lock of Dylan's hair for the first time, in that alleyway opposite Corwin's, he had found something that he longed for more than anything else. Her scent was intoxicating; he found himself longing for not just her hair, but for her. Her scent became a comfort to him, and he longed to have her for himself, to protect her from the horrible, selfish, egotistical and flat out evil men that she so often fell for. But when he finally managed to communicate his feelings, and she returned his kiss with such passion, his joy was short-lived thanks to Seamus. He knew that that was what she dreamed about at night, for what else could be haunting her dreams but her murderous ex-boyfriend? For the past six months he had been watching over her as she slept, longing to throw open her bedroom window, to take her into his arms and comfort her, to reassure her that Seamus was dead and that he was never going to hurt her ever again. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, so afraid was he that she didn't love him, despite all the passion of their kiss. He stared longingly through the window at her, hoping that perhaps tonight she might have peaceful slumber. After watching her for a few moments longer, Anthony walked over to the fence where Dylan had been standing earlier in the night, and eventually located the tiny shrine she had built there. Kneeling down, he read the name written on the cross, his eyes widening. Anthony. She built this for me? Why? Anthony wondered, fingering the rose gently. He picked it up and smelled it, revelling in the knowledge that she had left it there for him. Still clutching the fragile flower, Anthony returned to his position outside Dylan's bedroom window, concern filling his face as he noticed her tossing around in bed more violently than usual. After a few minutes of thrashing and moaning, Dylan awoke, her horrified scream filling the room. Before he could second-guess his actions, Anthony grabbed the window and threw it open, splintering the wooden frame as he went to save his Angel from her nightmare.
Dylan loathed those nightmares. She found herself unable to escape their sadness and despair, even after she awoke from them. Every night she relived that fateful night, her soul slowly becoming consumed in its blackness. The night of the one-year anniversary was no better than any other time; in fact, when Dylan awoke, her horrified scream from that fateful night one year ago still filled her ears. It was a few moments before she realised that the scream wasn't just from her memories; it was erupting from her mouth. Fighting back more tears, she forced herself to be silent. A few moments later, a tentative hand wrapped itself in her hair, and she instinctively leapt out of bed, accidentally leaving a lock of her hair entwined in the fingers.
"Ow!" Dylan yelped, clutching her hand to the spot where those hairs had been. A moment later, her eyes widened at the memory of the pain, and she slowly turned, hoping against all hope. And there he was, kneeling beside her bed, the missing lock of hair still tangled around his fingers. Her eyes widened in hope and amazement, but she found herself rooted to the spot, unsure what to do. Eventually Anthony stood and approached her, hope shining in his eyes too, along with a sense of worry.
"Anthony?" Dylan said in a disbelieving whisper. He simply nodded and stepped closer, gently fingering the rose that she had placed at the shrine. Anthony opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled garble. Quickly realising that his voice was not going to work for him after all those years of silence, he pulled out his notepad and pen and scrawled a note, which he handed to Dylan. "It's me, Dylan," the note said. Dylan stared from the note to him and back for a few moments, before breaking down into joyful tears in his arms.
"Oh, God, Anthony, I thought... I thought you were dead! I felt so lost, and I was so worried that maybe Seamus had survived just to spite me..." Anthony clumsily scrawled another note, keeping one arm around Dylan. "He's dead, Dylan. He won't hurt you ever again." Dylan burst into a fresh flood of relieved tears after reading that note.
"How on earth did you survive when he didn't?" she asked after she had calmed herself somewhat, looking up into his pale-blue eyes. Anthony thought about that for a moment, before writing "Either I'm lucky or I have some more important reason in life than being an assassin." Like being with you, Dylan, he thought, unsure whether to add that on the note. Dylan gently took the note and read it, nodding slowly. Anthony wrote another note and handed that to her too. "Why were you copying me that night?" Dylan read that note and took a deep breath, wondering how to answer.
"I... I realised that there was a lot more to you than we thought, Anthony. I wanted to understand you better. I still do," Dylan said hesitantly. Anthony nodded thoughtfully; he had been hoping that was the reason. But as much as he loved Dylan, he wasn't going to push her to be with him if she didn't want to. He thought he would be the happiest person alive if he could even be friends with her.
"Anthony?" she asked a few moments later, uncertainty and fear suddenly tinting her voice. Anthony squeezed her tighter and looked at her, waiting for the next of the many questions which he had suspected she might have. "What were you trying to say that night?" Anthony pointed at the note containing his question, and Dylan nodded acceptingly. Her next question, though, almost floored Anthony. "And... what did you mean by that kiss?" Dylan asked in a whisper, almost afraid to receive his answer. Anthony sat down on the bed and thought for a few moments, staring off into the distance as he tried to organise what he was feeling into words. "It's OK, Anthony, I don't mind if you didn't really mean anything by it," Dylan added, the fear in her voice more prominent now, completely disputing what she was saying. Anthony turned to look at her, surprised to find fearful tears shining in his Angel's eyes. She's just as afraid of finding out my feelings as I was of finding out hers, Anthony realised. After gently wiping Dylan's tears away, Anthony returned to his notebook and wrote another note, which he folded nervously and held for a few moments before passing it to his beloved. Dylan stared at the note even longer than Anthony had did, longing to know what he had written but dreading it as well. Eventually, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and unfolded the note. A few moments later, she tentatively opened her eyes, tears filling them at his reply. "I know I probably don't deserve you after everything I've done, Dylan, but I love you."
"Oh, Anthony, how could you even think that? You saved my life, and I wouldn't have kissed you if I didn't think you were worth my time. And that's the honest truth," Dylan said, all fear gone. And suddenly, she found herself captured in a kiss a thousand times more passionate than the one they had shared a year ago. Dylan no longer needed to run, to hide her feelings, to regret not doing more to keep Seamus from hurting Anthony. For he was here, with her, and that was all that mattered in the world to her in that precious moment in time.