Author's Notes:

Hello again. I didn't think I would be writing anything again for FFU so soon after "These Small Hours." But immediately after I published the first one-shot, an idea for the second one came to me. Finally writing again after over seven months feels great. :)

Also, I'm a huge fan of FFU. If only it hadn't been canceled so we could have had those other 27 episodes. (The original plan for FFU was for it to have 52 episodes, not 25, leaving us more than half short because it was canceled.) I know a lot of people complain about the plot and the art and whatnot, but it really is one of the best fantasy anime I've watched besides The Twelve Kingdoms and Princess Tutu. (watch PT to the end and you won't be sorry. It may sound like it's geared toward kids, but it's a great anime in disguise and has a Brother's Grimm twist on fairy tales with some Matrix like themes. 0.0 Wacky description, but you'll just have to watch to find out if I'm telling the truth.)

This one is slightly, slightly because both the anime and the continuation don't leave much evidence for a Lisa/Kaze pairing (sorry fans, but it's the truth), romantic. Technically, this should be under the new "Friendship" label, but I think that's a ridiculous category anyway so I'll leave it where it lies.

It's also quite dark. I don't think it is, but since it has to deal with the consumption of blood (Yes, blood. You have been warned) then I think a warning is in order. But don't worry, Kaze's not going to turn into a vampire or anything. (lol, Kaze as a vampire.)

This is also inspired by the Witch Hunter Robin ending song Half Pain, sung by Bana. Since song-fics are banned, I'm only going to quote a slight portion of it.
Enjoy. :)

Disclaimer: Since I finally remembered to write one, I'll just say this, I don't own anything. Just the plot. Lyrics are from animelyrics(.com), I do not own the translation.

One-shot

Title: Half Pain

Summary: It's late at night on board the Comodeen, Lisa decides to make a midnight snack and ends up sharing the kitchen space with Kaze. There they talk about many things... (KXL)

Half Pain

So long ago, I threw away my brightness.

And like the light from the morning sun, it can never return.

It lies beside this cold heart, frozen

So completely mindless that it persists forever.

In the darkness, it's easy to see how I lost my way. That floating, drifting, feeling that I've had all along makes me become unanchored from reality.
Is it all just a game? A gentle ruse. I know I've been seduced by the thought of another life beyond the one I have. That is why I keep fighting. If I just smile more, if I can return to him, then everything will be alright.

But in the night, it's easy to see how we're fooled by the light of day. Everything is so crystal clear that is scares me sometimes. I feel like you... No, I feel like everyone can see so easily through me. See what I can't see.
I get lost and stumble over my own designs. The traps that I've laid and the well cared for plans go astray.

I want an anchor, but I don't know how to reach out my hands and say "please save me" anymore.
In the darkness, it's easy to see how I'm coming undone.
So I try to push it away from me. I push off the warmth of those around me and stumble for the kitchen stairs. The kitchen has always been a place of comfort for me. Ever since I was a little girl, it's always been a place where I can sit and be myself.
It always smells like all spice and dish soap. That's how I always perceive it. Every kitchen I've ever walked into smells like the remains of old food, spices, and dish soap. But particularly of all spice. Or maybe that's because I spent so many years in a foreign land with my head in the spice cabinet, trying to hide.

No, I won't think about my home in Russia. And I won't think about my mother. Brushing off the beginning of tears and blinking rapidly, I rise and head for the door.
I'll just take a few things. Just a little bit of food. Maybe I'll make something for everyone so for once we'll eat something besides that god awful slop that we're forced to stuff down everyday.
Before I even reach the kitchen sink, there you are.

Kaze.

I don't want you to be in the same room as me. To be honest, you scare me. It's the way you look at me that scares me. I used to think you hated me. That the cold, emotionless stare that you give me was one of hate. But now I wonder if it's one of understanding. If, like me, you hide behind it so you won't have to face yourself. If the reason you don't get close to people, that you're always so quick to hide your actions behind a gun, is because you don't know how to connect with people.

Just like my smile... We're both liers.

I head past you for the vegetable bin, leaning down carefully so my short skirt doesn't ride up. I really wish I had had a second to prepare for this journey. Sometimes being a secret agent sucks. It's not at all how the American movies make it appear to be. Or maybe it is, since the women are always wearing skin tight leather.

Onions, radishes, beets... Perfect. I can make a stew.
For a minute my stomach flops and the smile vanishes off my face. I know I want stew, but if I make it...

I glance over my shoulder. Kaze haven't moved. He's still sitting by the door, leaning against the kitchen counter. Watching me.

Our eyes meet, and I turn away quickly. I don't like your eyes. Even if we are comrades, I don't like them one bit.

It's cold, and I shiver before turning back to the fridge. I scold myself. It's just the frigid air from the fridge, Lisa. Stop being so paranoid.

All the same...

I resist the urge to turn toward Kaze as I move toward the sink. The water is cool on my hands and I wonder briefly if it's salt water that's coming out of the taps.
It would have to be heated salt water then. Heated, or the water would have to go through some kind of solution to make it safe to drink.

Behind me shadows move and I jump, startled by the sudden movement.

Kaze. He's moved closer. No longer by the door, but leaning against the the table across from the door. Right by the fridge where I used to be.

And where I want to go if I'm going to get started. His back is to the kitchen knives.

For a minute, I curse under my breath, not caring if he hears me. Who in the world puts kitchen knives on the kitchen table? Honestly? Isn't that impractical?
I square my shoulders and hold my head up high. It's the middle of the night, the witching hour, and I don't have to be nice. I can just walk over there and push him aside. I can just walk over there and take what I want.

But I don't do it. Instead I just look at him. All lean angles and flat curves. A man is made out of rough planes and sharp features. Hard muscles that are meant to fit against a woman's soft ones.

I look away. I wish I were a man, then I wouldn't feel so uncomfortable.
As if sensing my unease, Kaze shifts to the left, blocking my approach to the knives.

Dammit, he knows just where to hurt. I bite my lip and consider my situation.

I could move around him, I could ask him, I could just throw myself against him and claw his eyes out.

But I don't do any of those things, instead my voice comes out before I can stop it.

In my weak voice, sounding very small like a child's, I say:

"I'm making stew. Borscht to be exact."

Dammit. Goddammit, why the hell did I say that? I could have just said: "Move." Or "please move."

I feel like an idiot. Worst, I feel like I'm seven years old all over again.
Seven was the year that I moved to Russia.

I'm sure it was seven. Because that was the year that...

I shake my head. No. I will not think about that again.
Miraculously, Kaze moves.

I sigh, grateful and exhausted at the same time, and go to retrieve the knife I need.

I begin to chop, taking my time, and slowly my mouth opens up and betrays me again.

"I learned this while in Russia. Usually, it takes a long time. But with a few simple short cuts..."
And on and on I go. Is it because you're always silent that you make such a good listener? Like a wall, you never say a word as I go on and tell you everything from how to cook Borscht to how summer is like in Rome.
You've never even seen these places and things I'm talking about. Never even tasted Borscht before. And suddenly the thought saddens me, brings me to a halt.

We are so different, you and I. We'll never understand each other. These are my true feelings, the emotions I try to hide deep within my heart.

I finish the onion and begin chopping up the potato when Kaze asks:

"How old were you when Chaos invaded your world?"
My heart skips a beat, a miss a slice, and warmth floods my face only to be replaced with ice. I shiver.
It is very cold in the room. Cold with my hatred.

I hate you. And the shock of it takes my breath away.

I hate you. As much as I love you, I hate you for taking away everything I have ever cared about. I hate you.
I hate you so much I could kill you.

I'm shaking when I reply.
"Seven."
But you already knew that, didn't you? We both know what you really wanted to ask.

I was seven when Kaze destroyed my world. And now I'm an adult now.

And there is that knife in my right hand. And I miss another slice.

I hate—

"Kaze, this is the most we've ever spoken to each other, isn't it?"
Myself.

I can't see your eyes as you move again, you walk toward me and I fumble with the knife.

Pain, it radiates from my hand in waves. I have cut myself.

I wanted to cut you, plunge the knife deep into your stomach, and instead I have cut my own finger.

The blood from the wound won't stop. I must have cut too deeply. Instead of applying pressure to the wound I can only stand there and watch as my own life force dyes both the cutting board and the vegetables crimson.

It's warm when you come to stand next to me. Funny, I always thought Kaze would be cold.

But his lips are warm, betraying my expectations, covering my index finger and sucking gently.

I'm dizzy. The room is spinning and it smells like copper and the scent of a man as Kaze's bangs graze my wrist.

I shiver, from the electricity of his touch, but I don't turn away.

"He's drinking it. He's drinking my blood." My thoughts are twisted, morbid even. How could anyone get such pleasure from something so strange, so taboo.

I want to cry out. To scream. But not from fright. I resist the urge and grip the knife at my side harder.
His neck is exposed, from this angle I could--

But then Kaze looks up and releases my hand. And with it my heart as well.

"You should eat it." Kaze says casually, licking his blood stained lips.

I just stare as his tongue slips out, small and pink behind even white teeth, and I can't utter a single word as for once I'm the one left listening to a confession.

My blood has stopped flowing. Like magic the wound is clean.

"Eat the blood. You'll understand your pain."
I gulp. Swallowing back not vile, but guilt. Wasn't that what I had planned to do to him? Make him bleed, try to understand his pain, my own pain, through suffering. But Kaze is the one making me suffer as I'm transfixed by his gaze. There is no pain, no guilt, no sorrow. There is only the reflection of myself there.
"The only way to truly understand a person's pain... Is to eat it."

And with that, you walk away. Just the swish of a cape and the lingering warmth of your body left in your wake.

I let go of the breath I had been holding and just stare dumbly at the cutting board. The air still has a lingering scent of blood, along with the smell of a man and strangely, all spice.

Seven. I was seven when I lost it all.

And now I'm an adult.

"The only way to truly understand a person's pain is to eat it."

Your advice, my decision.

I start to hum and lick my fingers...

"If I add more dill... No one will notice."

I cook the stew. Humming all the while.

(Half Pain—9/1/08)

Author's Notes: Not what you expected, huh? Well, life's life that. :) I'm very pleased with this piece. At first, I was worried that it wouldn't translate well. I'm glad I decided to go with Lisa's point of view instead of a third person.

(lol) This turned out to be a very twisted love story. I know some of you guys are cringing, thinking that it's disgusting to eat the blood (or flesh) of another person. And I suppose you're right. But in both popular culture and foreign cultures, it is not uncommon for a person to eat, or drink, the blood or another person. In fact, on History Channel's program on Cannibalism, they showed several cultures that do or had cannibalism at one time or another. Of course, eating another person is wrong. (Don't do it!) But you can't deny that we are both fascinated and repulsed by it. Just look at our obsession with vampires. If asked, most woman would admit to liking, or liking at one time, vampires. Why? Is it the consumption of blood, an intimate connection between the flesh symbolic of sex, or is it the mystique? The lure of something forbidden. Also, there is the popular series of novels by Thomas Harris among many other things that point out that this issue is still very present in our minds.

Of course, all of this information doesn't have anything to do with this fan fiction. I'm just trying to defend my writing. I guess, in a twisted adult way, this is a version of the popular "You have to walk in a person's shoes" saying of having empathy for another human being.

If you liked it, please review.

If not, no skin off my back. :)