Honest

.01

Waiting, always waiting.

He's at the bar with a cool beer in his hand. His thumb brushes against the smooth glass, wiping away the chilly droplets. A girl places her hand on his shoulder seductively, saying something he can't quite hear, and he shrugs her off roughly. She walks off in a huff but he doesn't care. The minutes tick by and the bar slowly empties, but the bottle remains full and he's all alone, staring down at the bottom.

Slowly, he raises it to his lips and takes a long drink, eyes slowly slipping back into focus as he's pulled from his memories unceremoniously.

He's been on the run for a while now; how many months exactly, he can't remember. Time seems to blur when a person's lost his belief in everything he's been doing for the past few years. Perhaps it wouldn't have been that complicated if he had never made the mistake of falling for her, if he had never met her.

If I gave you control, would you say that we could have saved it?

A dry smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

He still remembers the look on her face when he had left with Cinder and Emerald.

Absolute and utter shock.

She had been so stunned by the sudden revelation that anger and hurt hadn't even registered with her. He, on the other hand, had simply sneered at her arrogantly, disdain and sadistic amusement swirling in his eyes, almost as if laughing at her blind stupidity for ever trusting him.

But when he had finally turned to leave, he had seen the disbelief morph into a flash of steel in her eyes, and he had known she would be alright.

And him?

He grins a crooked grin and takes another swig.

Well, he's still trying to find himself.

.02

I hope you find a way to be yourself some day.

With the White Fang's plan moving faster, Beacon had also stepped up their missions and he hears snatches of whispers here and there everyday; how their Southern base had been leveled by a team of 4 girls, how one of the White Fang's most trusted lieutenant had been killed by a giant of a man. None of that interests him though, he only cares for news about a certain redhead. And he does hear about her often. Their team had been highly successful in their missions and tales of their heroics had been floating around.

And it turns out such stories are true; he smiles humorlessly at the thought as he stares down at the battle below him.

She's grown in every way, he muses to himself from where he's sitting on the rooftop, eyes never leaving her form. She's taller and more beautiful than ever – something wells up in his chest uncomfortably – and he watches her dance and weave between the fighters like a leaf in the wind, dodging and blocking attacks effortlessly before countering with her own strikes. With more experience and increased skill, she singlehandedly destroys half of the forces in the base. But as graceful as she seems, he can see she's grown mentally; stronger, harder.

And he can't help but wonder if it's because of him.

.03

In weakness or in strength, change can be amazing.

She shrugs off her dress easily and the color catches his eye; red with a hint of gold. He closes his eyes and he can see her once more, descending down the stairs, crimson hair slipping past her shoulders, hips swaying invitingly.

"I guess you're the kind of guy I wish I was here with, someone who just saw me, for me."

Cool hands caress his cheek before sliding down to rest against his chest, and he inhales with a shudder, a familiar burn suddenly flaring up from an old wound. And for a moment, he almost believes that he's back in her room. He nearly lets slip her name, but then her hands take his own and he's pulled back into reality and onto the bed on top of the raven.

"Maybe we met for a reason."

She whispers something inaudible but he doesn't pay her any attention, merely dipping his head to trail a line of kisses down the side of her neck. Fingers trace the bare skin and slip down to her waist as he pushes deeper, her gasps and moans echoing in his ears.

"Maybe something good happened from us being together."

He has her name on his lips, on his tongue; he can taste it but he swallows it. He won't say it, but he refuses to say anyone else's name either.

"Mercury…"

The raw emotions come back to him in a crippling surge and it almost suffocates him. He doesn't want her tainting the sound of his name, and so he leans down and kisses her, closing his eyes as he does.

"Why are you lying to me?"

He pretends that it's her but he's painfully aware that she isn't.

But then again, he had always been a bit of a liar.

.04

So I pray for the best, I pray for the best for you.

The rain drenches him, his usually spiky silver-gray hair now a dark gray, plastered to his forehead haphazardly. Cloaked in creeping shadows, with his much changed attire and white mask covering the upper half of his face, Pyrrha doesn't recognize him. He stands in front of her, hands hanging loosely by his sides.

He doesn't want to fight her. He's tired. He's been tired for so long.

She must have seen the red markings adorning his mask for her eyes narrowed dangerously. And she sprints towards him, sword raised. He doesn't move, merely stands and lets her slide the sword clean through him. He grasps at the weapon with one hand and looks up, taking in the look of shock on her face at his lack of resistance. With a grunt, Mercury slumps to his knees, gasping for breath. Blood slowly fills his mouth and he lets out a gurgled cough. A shaking hand covers his mouth as he coughs, but the crimson liquid gushes out between his fingers to trickle down his hand.

The sword is still lodged in his abdomen and she kneels down to retrieve it almost sadly. The rumbling in his chest morphs into twisted laughter and he grins his trademark grin at her, and something familiar stirs in those beautiful green eyes he's always adored as her lips part in confusion.

"Merc-"

Her voice wavers slightly with uncertainty and he can see her reach up to take off his mask out of the corner of his eye and a hand shoots up with renewed energy to encircle her wrist, locking it in place.

"No," he whispers. "No."

But the life is draining from him fast and he sits back on his haunches exhausted as the darkness creeps into his vision. He spits out more blood, feeling the numbness slowly settle in his chest and spread throughout his body.

It's getting colder.

There's a sudden clang of metal and the sword is wrenched from his body roughly. He lets out a cry. The blood splatters all around him and his vision shakes violently. But he can see his partner standing beside him, weapons drawn, as she faces Pyrrha. Despite the pain, Mercury shoots Emerald a smile through a mouthful of blood and nods in thanks. There's a distant shouting and he watches the redhead leave under Emerald's watchful gaze.

Groaning, he collapses onto the ground.

He's tired. He's been tired for too long, but he doesn't have to fight her anymore.

He smiles as his eyes drift close.

I wish you could be honest.

I wish you could be honest with me.