Author's Spiel: Yeah, I know I have so many other things on my plate, but hey, it's just a oneshot. I just saw the movie last night and I was wandering around my writer's block, and this just kind of…fell out of my head.

Warnings: Yes, as I've already mentioned, it takes place post-Underworld: Evolution. So if you haven't seen the sequel, this may pretty much ruin it for you. Heed warnings, and don't bitch to me just because you can't read multiple warnings.

Pinnacle of Eden

MorningHell

War hangs heavy when it isn't raging.

When it isn't preying upon, it is watching on a tense perch. When it isn't destroying, it is shifting shattered pieces and clearing its battlefield for destruction anew. It keeps its hand level overhead and its eyes open upon every soldier, without suspension and merciless in its order. It offers no solace. Selene knows this all too well. It is that inbred truth that keeps her cautiously surveying the grounds of her temporary fortress, stuck in sentry-mode. She walks along the walls and studies the yard, eyes trained onto the road accusingly and the skies in paranoia, palm linked unbreakably to the hilt of her weapon in the case that some stray follower makes an appearance to where she has fled. It's been an hour now, and not a single sign of disruption has reared its head. It is almost as though the war isn't out there, waiting at the perimeters like both figurative and literal hungry dogs. But she knows better. Centuries of knowing nothing but the fight have done well to teach her.

As she rounds the corner once more and finds herself at the entrance again, she ponders making one more round just for safety's sake. She is protecting something, after all. It would be largely futile and the rational half of her knows it—a Selene but a few weeks prior would have given herself only a quick sweep before hiding away for the day to sleep. Though at that, a Selene but a day younger would have been dead where she stood, she thinks as she looks upon the sun-gilded clouds above and the wildly foreign glow of gold that laces across the skin of her hands.

She is alive and braving the sunlight. It is a memory that has been long since dead to her, stowed at the back of the very forgotten, dust-covered region of her mind labeled 'mortality'. Perhaps that is part of the reason she is reluctant to go back inside. It's a petty dread and it makes her feel quite pathetic, but part of her fears that should she go back inside, her immunity to the sun will vanish. In the end she knows she has to return. She cannot stay out here and leave him alone. She has promised never to do that, and it did not bode well to be breaking promises with her one and only remaining ally.

She could feel him leaning a bit weakly even before the kiss ended, body trembling slightly but his hands heavy and stable on her face. When he broke off, he was panting, shoulders slackened. "Selene…" he said brokenly. Her name fell from his lips as always; a plea for guidance.

"You were dead." Was all she could manage to say as her confused blue gaze bore piercingly into his. Tears stained her face in a stingingly unfamiliar sensation, but her voice was maintained and calm.

"Yeah." Michael agreed with a thick swallow. It was all that needed to be said to display his proportionate lack of understanding in the matter.

Nothing truly needed to be understood. Selene didn't much care for an explanation. His appearance had surprised her, but it hadn't shocked her. That was most likely in light of the fact that she never properly had the chance to come to terms with his presence in her life, let alone his absence in it. Not having been able to accept that he was gone made his return seem almost expected. But in reality, she knew how incredible it was. Her hands explored his face and chest as he stood haggardly before her, studying him in disbelief while he watched her back with that patient anticipation in his eyes. His blonde hair was matted down against his face, his skin was slicked with blood and sweat and streaks of blackened dirt. He was filthy and scratched up, bloody and weathered, but at the moment, he was beautiful.

"Don't do it again." She ordered pointedly, and she absorbed his predicted smile with inexplicable satisfaction.

"Believe me…I don't plan on it." He laughed weakly and slowly touched a bleeding shoulder that had already set to rapid healing. He wavered a bit and looked back upon her in his pliable manner, awaiting answers. An ever-ready attitude and dependent eyes that read 'tell me what to do'.

"You're drained…you need to rest." Selene noted as she shifted her hands to his shoulders in an offer of support.

"I'm fine." He said quietly. She knew he said these types of things merely for the sake of pleasing her.

"No, you're not. You need to recover, and you need to feed."

This time, Michael didn't protest, his eyes finding the ground and his head bowing a little. Occasionally he would question her, but they both knew he would never openly defy her. Such was the nature of their relationship. When he looked up, his request was soft and undemanding. "…Where will we go?"

Selene sighs deeply and pushes her lackluster hair away from her face as she leans against the wall, allowing a brief lapse in her vigilance and closing her eyes to the morning sunlight. As much as she tries to fight it, she is incredibly tired from the events of the past day as well, and she knows that sleep will be obligatory before they can continue whatever journey lies onward. It will be better to sleep sooner than later. They must use the defense of sunlight to their advantage when they can.

The stench of rotting Lycan corpses pervades her senses, attacking her from every angle and making her cough for a moment before she regains her composure. It's a disgusting scent, made tolerable only remotely by the smear of Michael's blood mingled within the air. From inside, a waft of decaying vampire is all that awaits her as a relief. Death and decomposing flesh spread over this land like a blanket of ash, dark and staining. Even her own skin reeks of it now, but none of this is anything new. She is used to the slaughter and the mess of it all. What she isn't used to is the still. The calm. The quiet. Sitting among the masses of desolation and waiting to fall a step further.

With one last gaze towards a suddenly benevolent sun, Selene slips into the unlit corridor and securely shuts the door behind her, sealing them back into the darkness that has thus far been their mother and safety. Things will be different now. So much more different than centuries of oddities could have ever prepared her for. Up until so very recently, she has not known betrayal. She has not known solitude in such absolute terms. She has not known the kind of selective alliance as she has with Michael—the blind willingness to give all for one. In the blink of an eye, everyone that she once knew is now dead, and she is trying desperately to keep from remaining slack-jawed and dumbfounded in the wake of the carnage, most of which she herself has caused. But she cannot stray long, for she knows that the war is not over. Despite that Lucian and Kraven are dead, despite that Viktor and Alexander are dead, even despite the fact that Markus and William are dead. The war will march on. There are still Lycans and vampires roaming this earth, and they can no more forget their blood feud than she can the distant but ingrained memories of her murdered family.

Even the terms of their species are beginning to grow vague for her, a once bold and obvious line now irrevocably blurred around the edges. Lycan and vampire; she and Michael are no longer either. But that does not matter, because like it or not, a war is defined to no groups exclusively. Such a hateful and long-lived war as theirs is indiscriminate to those it touches, infects, and leaves ravaged. So they are damned. They are in this war no matter which course of action they may choose, and what's more, they are charged with ending it. Accepting this is not as difficult as she might have thought, but it is still far from easy. She supposes she should be more worried. After all, no war was ever fought with millions facing a mere two. But they have beaten impossible odds before, and so impossible odds must be beaten again.

She still walks in a muffled and catlike fashion, sure that something is waiting to leap from the shadows, and she is prepared for it. She tells herself that this is because she is alert and aware of her surroundings, since she will not admit that it is because she lives in constant fear. When she passes by a particular room, she stops and glances, vampire gore swimming thick in the air from inside.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Michael croaked quietly, mostly supported where he leaned upon her.

Selene glanced at him before drawing her eyes back up to the building cautiously. "Well we don't much have the luxury of novel ideas at the moment, now, do we?"

Michael sighed through his nose and nodded, his eyes fluttering momentarily in what was either a tired or pained gesture.

Seeing no protest, she helped him along to the front entrance, scanning the area perpetually as she did so. It was eerily quiet. She instantly paused at the overwhelming scent of dead Lycan flesh with a slight sneer of disdain, while Michael chuffed through his teeth and murmured sickly beside her. "God…" he choked in offense as he wiped under his nose with a hand.

"Try not to pay it any mind." She advised.

Michael nodded hesitantly and his eyes made a long trek around before they fixed ahead of him at last. "…Should we knock?"

"And lose the element of surprise?" Selene raised an eyebrow and pushed away from him, trusting him on his own feet for a moment as she approached the door. This wasn't going to be easy, but she was sure she could get past it somehow. If she was fed and rested she may have been able to summon the strength necessary to tear it down, but since that wasn't the case…She paused suddenly, furrowing her brow and studying the door thoughtfully. It was already opened a small ways. Reaching a hand down to her weapon, she placed a foot against it and shoved it open the rest of the way, raising her gun cautiously in the case that some malicious force awaited them. When she was met by only silence and darkness, she carefully took a few steps back and found Michael's arm. "Let's investigate." She said as she took it over her shoulder.

"Is he here?"

"Only one way to know." She gestured a head toss inside and pulled him away from the wall.

As they limped down the hallway, Selene kept herself on a purposefully nervous edge. Michael noted her tenseness and attempted to keep attentive as well, but his movements were becoming more and more labored and his consciousness more fuzzy by the minute. When he spoke, it was mostly for the sake of keeping himself focused enough to do so. "How long do you think we can stay?"

"Not long." She answered obviously. "We'll rest and be on our way."

"Would it be too much to ask where?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet." She admitted in a mutter. "Right now I'm just worried about the moment, and that's plenty enough resting on my head. If you've got any ideas, by all means, speak up." It was her usual way of speaking with him. She had never felt the need to be soft on him. Now, however, she felt it a bit aggressive to have responded to him that way. And how he took it with such lack of hurt somehow made her guilt worsen. No one but Michael had ever had such faith in her word to think she was always in the right—not even herself. So with a light sigh, she added, "What I mean is that you shouldn't worry about that right now."

"I'll try." He nodded.

When they reached the doorway to the study, Selene hesitated at a familiar scent and lead Michael to the wall to leave him as she stepped inside. Her eyes scoured the room and quickly landed upon the table, lips parting.

"I just…I just don't think it's smart to come back here, Selene. I-I know we don't have anywhere else to go, but we can't trust him. I don't want to—"

"Michael," she cut him off, turning a bit over her shoulder to peer at him where he stood obliviously near the doorway. "It isn't going to be a problem." She slowly turned back with her hands hanging at her sides and one holstered her weapon. Blood dripped stiffly into a puddle on the stone floor, already stained black and coagulated. "…Tanis is dead."

Selene shouldn't feel sympathy on the behalf of her fallen brethren. Not even as she gazes upon his wounds and awkwardly strewn corpse, all clearly the work of Markus. And yet, as she looks upon his face, lifeless and somehow saddened, there is a strange twinge within her that she isn't entirely certain of. Tanis was a liar, and a coward in some respects, but she can hardly blame him for these things. It is she who forced him into this life of seclusion, after all. It is she who left him to fend for himself, and fend for himself he had. Tanis did what was needed to survive for over three hundred years, after having been betrayed and exiled by his people. Selene has always regarded him as scum, a man who spread lies and another hapless fool who wrongly crossed Viktor. She has never put thought to him otherwise, not until today. She has never been able to identify with him as she can now, and she thinks that perhaps the small feeling churning within her is remorse. Tanis, though far from innocent, is a victim. To her own surprise and mild self revulsion, she finds herself wishing that things had ended better for him.

It's pathetic. Wishing for things is pathetic, that is. And if she is suddenly endowed with the ability of wishing for the things that she wants, she will not be wasting it on a wretch like Tanis. She will be wishing that they don't have to run. She will be wishing they are never found by those who may be hunting them. She will wish for peace. But it does not matter, because wishing will get you nowhere, and she is not wishing. Instead, she does as she always does. She actualizes. She regroups. She prepares. All of which are more productive than the petty quandaries of 'what if' and 'if only'.

She still can't help a nervous stiffness as she continues down the hall, sure that there will be an army waiting for them the moment they step outside. They could be under someone's watch at this very moment, as popular as they have become. And she still knows nothing of what they are to do now. Life cannot continue on in serenity. Things cannot be tranquil or safe. Was there any way to stop this war aside from eradicating both sides?

"In here. Sit." Selene ordered as she transferred Michael to the bed. He naturally did as he was told and sat, completely exhausted. But he would not complain. Michael accepted, and never complained. Selene returned to him minutes later with a bowl of water and a rag, and she sat dutifully to groom him without explanation. "You did very well, Michael." She said quietly as she swept the rag down his face, though her eyes were concentrated on her task.

Michael's chest swelled a little and she could feel his mild elation at the notion of praise. "Thanks…"

"Mm." Selene replied absently and continued to clear away the smear of blood away from his face. His eyes were half closed and averted down, holding as still as he could in submission. As she took the rag away and moved to wet it again, his eyes opened a little and looked at her. "I owe my life to you." She elaborated at length.

Michael ran his tongue across his lower lip and kept that strange, almost smile on his features. "I owe you mine."

Selene eyed him as she brought up the rag to clean his other cheek. "Good. I dislike debts. So we're even. Turn your head." She wiped at a disappearing cut along his neck and moved shortly to the rest of his body.

"I never apologized…" Michael went on lightly.

"Apologized?" she repeated as she wrung out the now scarlet-tinted rag.

"I mean…Back in the woods, I told you that I would stay behind. Instead I went out and got myself into another mess…I'm sorry. I should've done what you told me." He explained.

"Don't worry about it." She dismissed. She was honestly surprised by his unyielding obedience most of the time, and wasn't all too bothered by one slip-up. "It didn't exactly have any long-term damage, did it?"

"I just don't want you to think I don't care what you have to say. I should…I guess I should listen to you more." He shrugged and looked around, pausing to watch as she cleaned his stomach.

Listen to her more? Was that possible? "You aren't a dog, Michael. You can think for yourself." She informed as she stared at his chest in a hypnotized fashion, finding it remarkably whole. It seemed like mere seconds ago that he had been ripped open there, heart ruptured and lying cold and dead. Only the slightest of bruises remained.

"I know." He offered.

She nodded in understanding and finished cleansing his skin in silence. Tossing the rag into the bowl and setting it aside, Selene rummaged to produce a case of blood, which she thrust at him. He straightened up wearily and drew back. Selene sighed and pushed it more forcefully. "We've had this discussion before. You've got to feed, or you'll die. And I've told you explicitly not to do that."

Michael smirked weakly and stared down at it. "I'm not hungry. You drink it."

"The hell you're not. You're starving." She pressed as she shook her head. "You need to replenish your blood, I don't."

"Ah…" Michael swallowed and grimaced as he stared.

Selene pushed back her annoyance and tried to relate to him as best she could. She placed a hand at the back of his neck in a comforting fashion. "It's difficult, I know. But it isn't impossible. You'll get used to it, that I promise. Soon you won't even think about it."

"That's part of the problem." He nearly whispered.

Selene refused to allow herself sadness as she looked at him. He never wanted to become a monster. This had never been his choice. He was innocent, and she felt a sensation of guilt in that she was working towards corrupting him further. "Drink." She demanded nonetheless in a tone that betrayed any ounce of sympathy that may have shown. She nicked the edge of it with her fangs and guided it to his lips.

Michael lowered his head and timidly closed his lips along the opening. He almost spat it out immediately, naturally finding the cooled, molasses-thick liquid quite revolting as it slid down his throat. Selene coaxed his drinking with a caress on the back of his neck and waited until he was finished with it before tossing it aside. Michael drew up with a frazzled and unnerved expression as a small gulp of blood ran down his chin from his overflowing lips.

"I'm sorry you can't have something warmer. Or fresher, for that matter. You'll grow to crave it all the same." She hated seeing the look that put on his face. Wiping away the dripping blood from his chin with a finger, she suddenly began thinking about where it was they were to acquire their blood supply.

"What if…" Michael spoke, eyes locked onto the empty blood packet lying on the ground. Selene stared at him bluntly and he continued with an apologetic nod. "I just mean I wonder what would happen if they knew. If the Lycans and the vampires, the rest of them…if they knew the truth about the war." His eyes sought hers hopefully. "Do you think it would change anything?"

Selene looked down for a long moment to gather her thoughts. "Each coven has its own delusion. I very much doubt that our version of the truth will be held in any better light than their own, whatever evidence we have at our disposal. Some will say that our species are natural enemies. That it cannot be helped."

Michael let this sink in for a moment. "Is that what you believe?"

She looked away and watched the glow of the candles that still burned, candles that had outlived the one who lit them. "I've ceased to have beliefs. I'm just trying to stay alive."

"…Do you think we'll ever have get to stop…?" he asked next. She could tell that Michael had yet to fully grasp the breadth of the eternity he was now a part of. He was still thinking in terms of 'the rest of his life'.

She didn't say anything for a long while, unable to meet his eyes. Silently, she placed the bowl of water into his hands. "Wash your hands and your hair and lie down. I'm going to secure this place, make sure there are no secret entrances, and see that we weren't followed."

Selene can't shake the nervous feeling away, but she has long since stopped trying. It has been festering in her stomach since the night she killed Viktor. It has no hope of vanishing. Before, she had been protected and secure inside a lie, surrounded by her fellowmen and safe within their fraternal grasp. Apart from Kraven and his idolizing blonde sycophant, she had always felt belonged by them. Now, those that she knew are dead. She belongs only with Michael, who was an outsider among his own people to begin with. Without the refuge of other vampires, she watches her own back twice over, and frets so deeply for her newly tasted lover that she wonders if it is entirely within the bounds of rationality.

She would know what to do if Alexander was alive, perhaps. She may be calmed if Lucian was here to aid them. Hell, she would even be set more at ease if Tanis was still in their company. She has never been the leader before. She cannot ask Michael what to do. The others had age and wisdom upon their side, but Michael is new—he hasn't even been alive for thirty years, he is a relative child. She is the one who must have the answers, and she is terrified that she in fact has none.

"Do you think we'll ever get to stop?"

She closes her eyes briefly and rubs at her temples. She can't bear to tell him that things may never be better. She isn't sure he would be able to handle something like that. She had accepted the war as her own many centuries ago, but she had known then what she was fighting against. She has no set purpose now; she has no loyalties. Part of her is afraid to live in a world without guidance, hiding in the back alleys and dredges of the Underworld while knowing that every creature on this earth could potentially benefit from her death. She doesn't want to have to say that perhaps it will never stop, and they will be running away from ghosts and shadows until this world collapses in upon itself. She stops once she reaches the bedroom and peers inside carefully.

Michael is lying on the bed, unconscious in the deepest sense of the word. His fatigue most likely pulled him down into sleep shortly after she left. His blood-covered pants lie on the floor and he's flopped out on his back in a state of obliviousness that makes her quite resentful, both because he should take care to be more alert and because she cannot bring herself to relax similarly. It's only a short thought, however, for she's glad that he sleeps now. She stalks over to the bed and observes him with a reluctant affection, sitting over the side of it softly so as not to wake him as she watches. Michael Corvin, limitlessly powered hybrid and supremely integral component in the war between vampires and Lycans. He doesn't have a right to look so positively harmless.

Selene sifts her fingers into his slightly dampened blonde locks and scratches his scalp, her gaze softening as he coos and leans toward her touch unknowingly in his peaceful state. She can't begrudge him for being vulnerable at the moment. She herself is little good in the middle of a dead sleep. And somehow, watching him does better to calm her raging nerves and inner quarrels than her less than optimistic attitude.

She owes him more than she might admit at the present time, because he gives her purpose. He needs to be taught, to be accompanied, to be protected. Everything else in her life has been finished. She wanted revenge for her family, and she has with the death of Viktor. She wanted answers about her past and her place in this war, and she has that from the aftermath of her final altercations with Markus and William. Without him, she wouldn't know where to begin. With him, she has the motivation to try harder to figure that out. At the very least, she is still needed. In many respects, he is dependent upon her. So how can she possibly look him in the eye and tell him that life will never be any better than the chaos and bloodlust it has now become? When he is counting on her? She knows that in any other instance, she would give him the unfiltered facts and allow him to process them on his own damned terms. It isn't her fault if he can't accept his fate. But love complicates many previous simplicities. You do not infer hopelessness to someone you love.

She contemplates things as she watches the steady rhythm of his chest, a part of her unwilling to slip into bed next to him in the case that keeping watch is necessary. As her hand moves away from him, however, the movement causes his eyes to snap open, pitch black and shocked.

"Sh, it's me." She says quickly, before he has the chance to feel further threatened. She is partly gratified that he is so quick to leap. His eyes fade slowly back into a calm blue and he exhales quietly as partial consciousness takes its toll. "Go back to sleep."

Michael's eyes close for a brief moment at the suggestion, but open slightly again to look up at her. There is a strange, breathless moment between them. "…I love you Selene." He whispers groggily.

That confession shouldn't come as a shock to her, but somehow, it does. She freely admits that she returns his love, but the words have never left her. Words are so petty. Kraven, Viktor, Markus—really any other creature she knew of prided themselves so much on eloquence. She grew tired of the self-glorified, histrionic expressions of idealism spouting from the lips of Lycan and vampire alike, as if speech alone could save their respective race. But Michael only seems to speak when words are essential. He speaks when he needs answers, is relaying answers, or when he believes something should be said. Perhaps this is why his statement confounds her. She gazes down at him with a gathered countenance of surprise.

He isn't asking for an answer. He isn't asking her to say it back. It's as though the thought didn't even cross his mind. Instead, she bends forward and places the notion upon his lips.

She notes that he tastes of blood and death, and fiery warmth that all but screams his name. When the kiss ends, he is still only half conscious and staring blurrily up at her through eyes that hold an adoration she isn't certain she deserves. She dedicatedly strokes his brow until his eyes close again and his breath evens out into a slumbering pace once more before drawing back. She sits up on the edge of the bed and begins to clumsily remove her clothes. She is achingly tired, and the idea of sleep is overcoming the urge to remain on guard. She only settles in when she has removed most of what she is wearing, lining her body along his and nestling against the crook of his neck. She feels thawed by his presence, and, equally sated by hers, he doesn't wake this time at her touch.

Selene has spent centuries alone without the warmth of another body anywhere near within her reach. The closest to any form of attraction she has ever known in her immortality was Kraven, and in terms of romance, she hadn't come within a mile of him. His touch always sickened her. Viktor was the sole proprietor of physical affections, as sparse and fatherly as they had been, but needless to be said, the memory of that only angers her now. All of this makes it very peculiar to her that Michael's body should feel so familiar and natural against her own. It has confused her from the first night they lay together, the way she neither tenses nor denies any touch he offers after such a long time of barring out this sort of interaction. She decides to take a lesson from Michael and not question it.

To her mild alarm, her apprehension is slipping away. She both blesses and scolds Michael for his ability to absolve her worries so easily simply with his body, since that both has the possibility of getting her killed and keeping her from killing herself. But her concern is waning just as quickly. He has plagued her with his contagious lethargy and she feels welcomingly placid. The most recent declaration to fall from his lips still rests upon her mind, but she won't realize the small smile on her face until many moments later. It will mark the first time someone has truly loved her in hundreds of years, and her loneliness dies with this revelation. And suddenly, she is no longer worried about what she may or may not have had to tell Michael about the prospect of their future. Perhaps things will never be better. Though as far as she is concerned, they never will never need to be.

War hangs heavy when it isn't raging.

But it isn't raging. And right now, that is enough.