It's torture, being so close to you, all of the time. We fight and we fight and we fight, and I have no idea why, but it's like we can't be in love, I can't be in love, because the fighting should override everything else.

Want to know a secret?

It doesn't.

You thought I was in love with Fletcher. You disapproved, mostly because Fletcher's a fucking idiot, but partly because I'm meant to be chaste and sweet and totally caught up by the Higher Purpose of saving the entire god-damn world. Okay, whatever. That's fine. I'll forgive you that assumption, because yes, fourteen-year-old girls are impressionable, and his hair is admittedly rather impressive.

Then you thought I was involved with Caelan. Honestly, I cannot even begin to list all the things that would've been wrong about that, though, again, I can see where you're coming from. Some people like the whole brooding, overgrown child kind of image, and how were you to know that I wasn't them?

And then, though you'd never ever admit it, you realized I was in love with you.

Dear Lord. As wrong being with Caelan would have been, this would have matched it, point for point, and trumped it. Easily.

You're both dead.

Ancient.

Dangerous.

Killers.

Slightly ever so psychotic.

Irresistible.

Add to that the fact that you are my teacher, my mentor, my business associate, a man who has known me since I was all of twelve and a dear friend of my late uncle, and, well, you've got yourself a bloody big 'off limits' sign.

One which, I must confess, I ignored. I crossed neatly over it, and I never faltered, never stumbled, never even thought to hesitate.

Best mistake of my life.

You're dead, Skulduggery. You're ancient. You're dangerous, you're a killer, you're ever-so-slightly psychotic. You're irresistible. You're my teacher, my mentor, my business associate. You've known me since I was twelve. You've seen me in those god-awful ugly prêt-a-porter clothes, in dresses, in my underwear, in absolutely nothing. You've seen me vulnerable, you've seen me broken, you've seen me crying. You've seen my every fault.

You know me, just as I know you.

I've seen you at your worst. I've seen you completely without your sanity, without your charm, without your veneer of civilization. I've seen you brutal, berserk, uncontrollable. I've watched you kill and torture and maim. I've watched you being dissected and torn to pieces and left for nothing. Hell, I've seen you when you were nothing.

I. Know. You.

And, for all that, I honestly do love you.

Crazy, fucked-up, stupid, wrong. Describes us perfectly, doesn't it?

A/N: I don't really like this pairing, but I can definitely see how it would work.

~Mademise Morte, January 17, 2011.