Warmth

by antiassasinguy

Fictrade 2007 with Kraven Ergeist. In the blizzard’s cold… warmth is found in the most unlikely places. Raki x Miria :: Raki x Clare

Disclaimer: Internet's still fritzy. This is posted, likely, during a 10 minute window where my dial-up is working. 'Nuff said, neh? I don't own Claymore. I apologize to Kraven for the EXTREMELY late post. Internet's been… dead.

Summary: Fictrade with Kraven Ergeist. In the blizzard's cold… warmth is found in the most unlikely places. Raki x Miria :: Raki x Clare

Warmth: Body Heat

"Well, at least we're in here and not out there." Raki pointed out, a light-hearted chuckle adorning his being.

It was simply unbelievable. Truly, discretely, exponentially and inadverdantly un-bloody believable.

Outside of the snug and large cave he was in, a blizzard raged on. If Raki had a scale of one to a hundred for this thing, he'd give it a hundred and nine. The young man, pushing his twenties, hoisted his side-arm, a short dagger, as he watched the wind carry the snow away at breakneck speeds. Leaning his lower back against the cave wall, he shoved another armament, a longsword, two inches into the soft ground as he rubbed his hands for some relief.

Several feet away, wrapped in a black cloak, was another. The Phantom Miria.

"That's a horrible bright side." Miria commented, shifting slightly as she leaned back, a small smile on her face.

He slid down cross-legged, offering her smile a return, shoving his blade out of its hilt to prevent the frost from making the blade stick. It was cold enough to do so. Even with the three layers of clothing, sans the cloak, Raki had felt the degree and intensity of the cold weather. He had heard of this valley; rumored to be one of the most sacred places in the history of the Old Kingdom. This place was isolated. No one ventured here. Or at least, that was what he thought.

It turned out that this very valley was the same spot where Isley began to mobilize his forces so many years ago.

Isley, Raki thought bitterly, and sadly, as well, just what are you planning to do? And Priscilla? What of her?

Raki had run away from Priscilla, the "sister" of Isley, and the man himself, a good month ago. After he had caught the pair partaking in horrors that his eyes had the unfortunate capacity to witness. Recalling the burned memory, he fought down the bile that was beginning to build up; refusing to have an upset stomach over a mere thought.

Even if the thought was as dark as the blackest pits of Hell itself.

Bloody bodies; yoki and human… littered all across the room… shouts, cries, moans of ecstacy… more blood… dying female villagers, young and virginal, consumed by the maw of a horned demon… Priscilla… the winged, horned black demon… moaning in ecstacy without shame… consuming innocents… and Isley…

The mating ritual of two monsters. Twisted. Demonic. Evil and whole.

Damn this all to Hell, he thought with a finality, and relieved himself of his cloak and armaments.

Looking at the sword, he mused at his own growth. The scrawny young one was gone. In his place was a man. Chiselled jaw was in place of a thin face, and neatly parted hair was in place of spiky locks that seemed to get in the way. His scar, once visible, was now hidden by a tuft of his sandy brown hair. Eyes, once wide and innocent, were hardened, yet still held that inherent kindness in them. His frame was taller now, and judging by his own deductions, the tip of Clare's head as he remembered, would be, most likely, just past his chin.

"Is there any sign of the blizzard dying down?" came Miria's voice.

Now that was a stupid question. Without a word, the light-haired brunette turned his head to the cave entrance, a good twenty feet away from him now. The both of them had opted to move as far away from the cave as possible without moving too deep, as to avoid predators (not that he'd worry about them in this kind of weather) and the main onslaught of cold from the blizzard. Turning his face back to Miria, he gave a light shake of the head.

"It looks like the locals were right." Miria mused, letting her head fall with a grimace, eyes droopy. "Cursed, huh?"

Raki paused in the midst of discarding his cloak, as tattered and heavy as it was, to turn to Miria.

"They told you that too?" Raki raised an eyebrow, meeting chuckle with grimace. "The story of the Winter's Warmth?"

"I ignored most of it. Us warriors don't have time to believe in fairy tales." Miria closed her eyes, sighing as she arched back her head after leaning forwards, feeling around her torso. "Usually, the only that mattered was, our task at hand."

He decided not to pursue the topic. The last thing he needed was to make a beautiful woman reminisce about bad times.

Beautiful? Now where had that come from?

"Are you holding up all right?" he neared her and went down on one knee, a hand on her bare shoulder. No nod.

"I'd be lying if I said I was." Miria fought down a heavy sigh, if only to save herself the pain of internal hemorrhaging. "That last battle took out a lot of me." She chuckled, turning to the young male at her side. "I'd doubt you'd do any better when you're outnumbered by warriors that were meant to kill you and only you, Raki.

"They're not hunting just Yoki anymore," she elaborated further, "The Organization is hunting warriors who have run away from them, building new lives… and seek to destroy them." Her eyes drifted, "Control freak bastards…"

He had found Miria in a condition worse than he would have liked. At the edge of the Valley, from the entrance, was where he had encountered her, a fountain of blood in her own right. Her grey cloak was tattered, and her body looked as though it had been used as a pin cushion for blades. He could see… everything. Veins, muscle, bare tissue. The organization wasn't holding anything back when she mentioned that they had become aware of Renegades now, did they? But he understood: each warrior loose meant a vraiable unchecked. And a shadowy company such as theirs could not afford any single factor uncontrolled. He sighed; control freak bastards, indeed.

He found it hard to believe that a lovely lady such as Miria would have sold her-

There he went again. Where had that come from? Hormones? They would serve to be a bother, these little episodes.

"But you're actually pretty damned amazing." She smiled up to him from her position, "For a mere man-!" Raki gave her a look, and with a rush, she corrected herself, "For a normal human, I can't believe you actually incapitated a warrior." Raki would have blushed from the pride, but he did not let her have the satisfaction. "Very impressive."

He'd forgot to mention the fact that when he had encountered Miria, the squadron of warriors that she had fought off still had a single member to contend with: their Captain. And it wasn't exactly a very even affair either. Miria had been in pathetic shape. After all, she did have a sword scissors-cut into her ribcage, and a dagger ripping into her calf, along with the wounds that came along with the battle. Raki also witnessed that the Captain only had a stab wound in her left shoulder, which was rapidly healing as it was.

He recognized Miria as one of the Claymores that had been with Clare on that mission seven years ago.

But that wasn't what drove him to help her. As Clare-obsessed as he was, he still had empathy, and it was rightly conducted in this little event, when he (Foolishly, he'd tell himself later) took his longbow… and fired an arrow at a speed to be believed… which found its place in the side of her head, and pierced right through her brain.

The Claymore fell down instantly, as Miria began to see the world swirl from her excessive injuries.

Wasting no time, the young man had come out of hiding, and hoisted the very much injured woman. As she tried to register, she silently thanked the Gods for having someone watch her back just this once, even if it was just a stranger… but Raki didn't have to know that. She didn't have to know herself that she was rescued by a male. Due to the fact that, in her own right, she was very much… not very fond of men, but by now, we'd be going off topic.

So I ran into this valley, 'cause I didn't know where to bloody go, and now, we're stranded, in a cursed area, no less! Sometimes I wonder if getting killed by that Ophelia chick would have been a better choice, by the Gods! He thought, and wondered himself if his own common sense had opted to leave him stranded in this particular lurch.

"I was lucky she didn't see me. If that Claymore – " His eyes turned to Miria, and he corrected himself. He knew how much they disliked that term. Clare had told him years ago about their dislike for the term. But the years away from any sort of contact with the Cla – warriors, save two Awakened Beings, had rusted his grammar choice in front of them. "I mean, if she had noticed me, I – both of us – wouldn't be here right now." In times like this, he had to keep his pride in check. Truth be told, he wanted to suck up the glory, but right now he doubted his own ability to protect Clare…

Or keep Miria from receiving any harm…

Blinking, he tried to register that last thought. Miria's name had popped up again? Strange. Hormones. He blamed them. All of them. Being of age meant he though differently to that of the old days, when his infatuation was innocent and, for lack of words, cute. Now, thoughts were rampant and his imagination was haywire. Clare was more to him now, more than she ever was seven years ago. Oh was she ever more.

Seven years ago he didn't imagine the sashay of her hips as she walked ahead of him.

Seven years ago she wasn't in any way in his dreams, clad in silky cloth and nothing else, beckoning for him…

Seven years ago he didn't think of licking her all over and making her scream his name into the night.

"Raki, your nose is bleeding."

He hurriedly corrected that.

Her words sparked something in him, and his eyes glazed over the still woman, before promptly beaning (mentally) his head into a wall that could split his head open in no time. The woman was gravely injured you physically inappropriate twit! What had you been thinking when you just put her down? That her wounds would heal by themselves? While Raki had heard of the fact (and saw it first hand) that Claymores could heal themselves just right, he truthfully doubted that a warrior woman (Ex-warrior, if he needed to be specific) could heal herself just right after seeing those injuries. There was bleeding muscle for cryin' out loud! He moved over to her…

Although by the indication of her turning a little red, it would suggest that he was right now… too close.

Raki didn't notice, eyes transfixed on her chest (Author: as if you weren't staring).

"Your wounds. Are they healed?" He was direct and to the point.

"No." she winced as he touched her chest, just above her breasts. "Externally, all my injuries have been dealt with… but on the inside… I think I might need more time." She gave a humorless chuckle; one that was enough to make the hairs on Raki's neck stand on end. "I've never wanted to just end the pain so badly as I do now."

"I once throught that you Claymores – I mean, warriors," he managed to correct himself again. "Didn't feel pain.

"But now I know better." His words were greeted by the slightly surprise look Miria's face, "You're human, just like any other people are. Just like me; everybody. Clare made me think that." he finished, softly caressing one of her wound marks. Miria winced as he touched her, and her skin suddenly felt… bare.

Realization dawned on her: thr fight had left her clothes in tatters. Save for some upper-dressing, the rest of the black leather that she wore was no more than smooth rag. It seemed that she had not realized it due to the fact that another one of Raki's cloaks was loosely wrapped around her, courtesy of the man himself. But Raki was a male, nonetheless, and she did not feel particluarly comfortable parading around without a smidget of cloth on.

Seeing her in her birthday suit and seeing her without clothes on were two entirely different things.

"Miria… I need you to show me your injuries."

Well, speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Miria painfully (slight pain, really) met his eyes with her look.

"Hey, don't look at me like that." He began to defuse the situation, if only barely treading on a field of broken glass while doing so, "I may not be a Surgeon, but I know when wounds are just too extreme to heal on their own, even for you warriors. Now," he gave her his own look; one that pleaded cooperation (or submission), "show them to me."

A curt nod.

She shifted underneath the blanket, his cloak, and opened up. Raki watched as she gave slight expressions of difficulty which indicated the woman would actually need help disrobing. He moved the cloak, revealing her body to him.

"Hope you're enjoying the view, Raki." It was meant to be a jest, but she got the tomato she wanted.

Raki spied that her wounds, while doing all right themselves, still looked a mite bit untended. There were cuts and gashes everywhere. Stab wounds, missing chunks of flesh (which were mending themselves just nicely, he noted). Raki, during this inspection, also noted that while the wounds were closing up all right by themselves, the fact remained that they were far from healed. A Claymore's body was truly amazing… and no, he was not talking about that in the perspective of a male chauvinistic pig. While the wounds were closing up, it seemed to have left little holes and cuts to filter out infected blood, as internal repairs were being conducted by the antibodies, enzymes and regeneration system of the body.

He gingerly touched the only whole remainder of her black leather suit: the cloth that barely covered her breasts. Slowly, and delicately, he tore the outfit at the middle of her valley, and hoped to Gods above he wouldn't be cast down to the pits of Hell for this little transgression. Miria bit her lip, but otherwise indicated for him to continue. Raki did so, and after a long process, Raki slipped the leather past her shoulders and out of the way, revealing her upper body in all its tanned glory.

She was gorgeous.

Despite the wounds, Miria was truly, and wonderfully, gorgeous. Full breasts greeted his view, and although the left orb was currently marked with the scar of a stab wound, he could truly say… for lack of better words and due to his lack of breast exposure, that they were… perfect. Plentiful, soft and –

He had to not stare. She might have got the wrong idea. Or was it the right idea? Truth be told, his mind was in such a state of turmoil he wouldn't even know for himself! He wanted to hang himself; he wanted to pat himself on the back; he wanted to touch those warm, soft mounds; he wanted to recoil with disgust. He – He – He didn't know anymore.

"Raki." His eyes shot up, to come face-to-face with the eyes of Miria. "How does it look?"

He silently thanked the deities for offering him life instead of death by furoius woman. He gave no reply, and instead traced a hand along a bare belly; taut. Just as he had observed with her breasts, he also found out that he stonach was very finely textured. Tracing his hand along the cuts and healing bruises present, Raki was unfortunate enough not to notice the flushed face of Miria. Eyes half-lidded and mouth partly open, warm breaths of air could be seen hovering from her lips, feeling the touch of a welcome alien force.

No one had touched her in such intimate areas before. No one.

His fingers worked their magic, as he traced over the many wounds that were marked across her front, feeling for the severity and the intensity of pain that each and ever single one had upon her being. Miria bit her lip and fought down a hiss as he traced a particular one near her waist. That one was deep. It'd take time to heal. That blade had shoved right through her before, and she was thankful her spine hadn't been rendered useless by the strike. Raki gave a small nod, and pulled his hand away, before completely moving away from the wound.

All in all, her upper body was in good condition, for someone who had just been through a massive array of stabbing, slashing and gashing by a whole lot of large swords. Just like the one that was rested at her side. The Claymore.

The young man neared her even more, if that was possible, crouching down and setting his hand on one of her legs, still covered by the security of the blanket of his cloak.

"Are your legs okay? I saw a whole lot more blood there than your torso had." He questioned. That was probably likely due to the many stab and slash wounds that were there; although he did find it strange that a person's lower half was much more severely damaged than their upper half after battle. The occasional leg, he knew, was lost of course, but he wouldn't know why someone would be aiming to chop off a leg.

"I'm named the Fastest for a reason, Raki." she followed this with a grimace, laying her touch upon one of them, "My battle capabilities are dependent upon my movement speed, hence," she gave another pat to her concealed legs, "it would make perfect sense to relieve me of my deadliest weapons, now, would it not?"

It was common sense for the warriors hunting them down to take out the legs of the fastest warrior alive. Miria treasured her legs more than any other appendage when it involved combat efficiency. Her arms could be shattered and it could not have any significant effect on her ability to survive or endure battle. By targeting for her legs, they were, in a literal sense, taking away her ability to live through battle.

Without another word, she exposed them to Raki's sight.

She didn't know whether it was a good idea to show the young man such a sight, but at this point, she couldn't exactly give a damn. The man knew what he was doing; she knew he was a good judge – he had good taste in things.

Although it wasn't, in any good way or form, a nice idea to allow him full view of everything past her waist.

Including the silvery-blonde pubic hair and the Maiden's Glory that no male or female had seen before.

She'd find this out in the next several seconds… and she'd treasure them the rest of her life.

"Wow," he couldn't stop himself.

"The carpet really does match the drapes."

Miria didn't know to laugh or sock him a new one, so she did both.

"Hey, what was that – ?" he was cut off when heard the light chuckle from the woman broke into a full-blown laugh, and he soon realized that he was doing the same. For the first time in what seemed like eons, he was truly laughing! The last time he had remembered laughing this much was – well, never! Miria… Miria had made him laugh…

Clare had never done the same now, had she?

Did it even matter?

Although nude to the world and very exposed to a male, Miria had found the hilarity in his words heartening. Surrounded by nothing more than comrades and a sword, struggling for survival in a world dead set against them, Raki's presence was truly, and deeply, a welcome, if not a required one. The boy – no, he was man now – was a breath of life! Just hours into their meeting, and already, she was so comfortable, so secure and whole, so…

Warm.

That was the word. She felt warm. In this cold and desolate valley, a very striking reflection of her soul, Raki was that little fire that kept going; that kept burning. She could see… she saw why Clare always smiled one of her rare fond ones when they talked of him. Why she seemed to radiate a glow unlike no other.

He kept her warm.

Raki came over near her, and gently ran a hand over the man healing gashes that had made their mark upon her legs. Miria fought down the shiver that was dominating her spine, and would ultimately reduce her into nothing more than a mass of jelly under his teasing, ginger and maddening caresses.

She never felt more naked than right now in her entire life.

And she was positively enjoying this, truth be told and consequences be damned.

Raki was lost. He didn't know what in the name of the Hells below he was doing right now, and… he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop. Checking the severity of wounds was the reason of her nudity, but was it a valid enough reason for him to be enjoying it? He… he cared for Miria, but – he truly, he couldn't – it just wouldn't –

Clare.

He didn't know why he did what he did next. She didn't know why she was so accepting of it, but –

She was beautiful, oh she was so beautiful…

Clare.

Miria.

Did it matter anymore?

"Raki – ?"

Warm breath. The sweet scent of lavender and the cold aroma of the winter flower.

A moment of lust. A dash of desire.

Raki kissed her.

Eyes wide and form still, Miria felt his warm lips against her own, lighting a fire once thought extinguished oh so long ago. She wanted to push him away, to stop him; anything.

She didn't expect to twirl her own tongue around in his mouth as he explored her own.

Miria moaned against his kiss as she raised her left hand to pull him in, promptly causing him to half-tumble and practically be pulled against her form, hovering just bare distances from her injured body. Slowly, perhaps too excruciatingly slow, he gingerly traced a hand across her bare stomach, one finger trailing its wake, sending shivers of pleasure and waves of ecstasy coursing through her veins.

After a solid amount of tongue-lingo, Raki broke their little escapade, trailing his tongue to the bottom of her lip, nibbling and teasing her, making her want more and more, only to give her less and less, if only to make her call out for more. Arms too tired to work, Miria opted to dodge some of his seductive and scandalous touches, at least allowing him to work for some of his own pleasure. A beckoning smile fixed itself upon her visage as the young man continued his oral assault, scraping his teeth slowly and sensuously began another offensive.

His lithe tongue gingerly traced down her chin and onto her neck, where the wounds were healing just nicely, before… he kissed her there. A gasp of surprise; and in no way was it unwelcome.

He cupped one breast, caressing its flesh softly, as he ravaged her with his downright indecent and immoral ministrations, to make her beg… to make her cry out into the night…

To make her his.

Foreplay never sounded so hot.

As Raki continued, the basic functions of his mind began to touch down into the zone of incoherency. He didn't know what was going on in there, and he didn't know what was going on with him. And he didn't know if he would even bother to care if he did. To him, nothing mattered.

Nothing mattered more than the cries of this woman, this beautiful siren, begging him… screaming his name…

"We both have to survive… Because I'll definitely find you…"

Clare.

Miria.

Clare.

What was he doing?!

He jerked away as quickly as he could, using all the force he had before his hormonal urges would think otherwise. Eyes returning to reality, and his mind returning to the material world from its stay in the void. Miria sat there, still as the lake water on a clear day, her silence deafening the cave. He could not hear the raging blizzard, nor could he even make out the sounds that were ringing around in his head.

Things were raging through his brain. Thought processes were working at hyper-speed. Recalling the last few moments, realization dawned on him. And in now way was it pleasant.

He had just – !

"I – I'm – I…" the words were stuck in his throat; none of them would come out. "I'm going to get some firewood."

And without a word, he left, leaving Miria in the cave. His form faded into the blizzard snow, as if he were nothing more than a shadow of her memories; one that she would soon forget.

But she couldn't.

As he left, tears began to flow, and the only word that echoed in her ears without being spoken was a name and a word of apology.

She felt dirty. Like a whore.

Penance was due, for she had performed the act of betrayal.

And she had enjoyed it.

I'm sorry, Clare, I'm so sorry…

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

"WHAT WAS I BLOODY THINKING?"

He was howling to the sky, lamenting on the fact that he had not only kissed one of Clare's fellow warriors, but he had also initiated bloody foreplay with her! Hormones? Get real, Raki; you knew this day was going to come sooner or later. All humans would give in to the throes of passion without a second thought, so why not you? What makes you so special that you thought you could resist the circle of life? You're just an average male, boy…

No, he wasn't! He – He had to be strong. He had to endure life, if only for…

For Clare.

He would live for Clare and –

Her touch was warm, plentiful breasts adorned her lovely figure as he slowly touched her soft skin. Moans of pleasure were evident against his mouth as he tried to make her cry his name out, and only his name…

He should not be thinking about such things! How could he? No; it was in the past now, no changing that little fact. There was no way that fact would change, as much as he willed it to be so. Hells below, he even doubted his own ability to change it should he have the opportunity! The mere memory made him weak in the knees; as though he did not have anything in his very being. As if – as if he had offered it all to her… to Miria, in that moment of passion.

And what scared him the most was… he didn't want it back.

Shaking his head of thoughts, Raki, with the cold snow and wind blowing across his face and making his neck hairs stand on end, searched for something, anything in his thoughts. Something for him to hold on to. Something for his sanity to remain untouched and his soul to remain clean.

Something that didn't make him turn not to Clare's gentle eyes, blazing with care and shelter…

But the sound of bells that only angels made… the sound of Miria's laughter; filled with passion and warmth…

Warmth. Warm laughter in a wasteland of cold ice.

It had been too long since he followed a laugh so heartwarming as hers… nor had he heard one as beautiful…

Oh Gods, just swallow me up now and be done with it. I can't believe that I – I can't believe it! Thoughts raged as he slammed his balled fists against the blanket of snow, resisting the urge to cry his heart out.

He never felt more like a child than he did then.

Miria?

Clare?

He was at a crossroad. And for probably only the second time in his life, he didn't know which road to take.

When in doubt whip it out, indeed, he thought banefully, trudging down to the many dead pines that were near the edgeside of the Valley. He'd find the firewood he would need there, and hopefully, although unlikely, it would take his mind off the troubles that plagued his very being right now.

Shaking his head, he trudged along.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The Passionate Miria wanted to screw his brains out.

The Logical and Smart Miria wanted to screw his brains out in front of Clare.

The Insecure Miria wanted him to screw her brains out.

No contest, really.

But as much as her bodily desires were demanding for some Raki-loving, the fact remained that whatever she wanted, it was, more likely than not, not what he wanted. Her Passionate Side argued the teeny little fact that Raki had intitated her into the cesspool of passion and sin only moments ago, and it wasn't as if he didn't enjoy it now, did he? After all, foreplay such as his was one not to be moitted from memory, were they not? As asinine as that phrase sounded, the logical revelations from such an event would definitely trigger dormant feelings should one of the subjects be depraved or even be inexperienced in the world of…

Sex.

Miria was not a stranger to this world. Pushing her thirties already, she, for lack of a better word, was mentally prepared. No man would want her body, as intimidating as the warriors were by mere presence. She was a… virgin, or so the term went, or whatever it was. There had been no prior intimate contact between her and another person.

Of both sexes. She knew that women were attracted to her in the organization (She had her qualms about Flora and Undine), due to her assertive and charismatic personality, and she was fine with that. As long as she didn't encourage them, it would remain fine… and she wasn't in any way interested in the persons of her own gender, thank you very much. The Organization had merely taught her to be open-minded, and achieve their objective by any means necessary.

If giving their bodice to achieve the ends they so desired was one of them, so be it.

Sickeningly, she recalled what they would actually mean to The Organization at the end of the day.

Cannon fodder. Sacrificial lambs. Hammer and nails. Slaves. The Muscle. Tools.

Claymores.

And Raki… Raki had made her feel so much more. She – it was if – she wasn't a monster on the inside, waiting to Awaken and consume the next living thing. No wonder the kid was kept around. She recalled again Clare's fond smiles when they talked about "The Kid" – Raki. And how it seemed to glow with a faint light whenever she did so.

She also recalled him being a scrawny and clingy little thing back when they had first met; before that mission that brought them all together.

And now; now the kid was no longer that scrawny little pacgae now, was he? Smooth, finely muscled arms that seemed to hold just the right amount of brawn; a lean frame that seemed just so right to lie against as she takes in his scent, breathing evenly and serenely… and although she hadn't felt it before… his hair was probably the feature she enjoyed taking into sense, as if they carried the wind, and blew just damn right…

Lost in a moment, she recalled with a bliss not to be ignored.

While she knew that he probably was very good looking now, she reasoned that there were probably other more good-looking men out there… but damn was the boy just fine.

She envied Clare.

She envied her for her luck to be able to fall into that chiselled body of his; to run fingers through hair that swept just right. But most of all…

Her luck to be able to find this warmth.

Raki's warmth.

The warmth of being able to heal, to be able to feel human again when she was not. To feel secure and that the world would be all right tomorrow when he looked into your eyes and smiled as you nuzzled into his neck.

She wanted that warmth so badly.

She wanted him to make her feel alive again. That her world was perfect again.

And then he had run out.

Get firewood, indeed.

She knew what was going on in his mind.

Clare.

Once and always, she knew that Clare would always be the first one in his heart. She was no more than, or probably much less than, a passing fling. Just a one-night stand. A bitter aftertaste in a memory made between two; that was what it was. It was a poisonous pill to swallow, but she was Phantom Miria! She could take this; after losing her closest friend, this shouldn't have been something to worry about, now would it?

That was why she had cried.

Miria loathed being tossed aside. And for someone so special to do that to her…

It hurt. It really, truly hurt.

I wonder… what would it feel like if he really loved me? Would I be happy? Would I be able to smile like Clare?

She was losing consciousness now, and realized, much to her chagrin, that her Yoki had nearly depleted in the healing of her wounds. The antibodies and recuperative system had spent almost all their reserves keeping her alive from immediate danger, that they had overlooked the capacities of the coming danger. Miria's body core alone wouldn't keep her alive in this place without her Yoki to regulate her body temperature as it had done before during the healing.

It wouldn't protect her from the bitter cold.

As her eyelids grew heavy, and her body weaker, she vaguely saw the face of her old friend, smiling as she offered her hand…

And Raki's warmth coursing through her like the flames of the sun.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

She woke up to the sound of crackling flames and the warmth of a campfire.

Her eyes were still heavy, and her muscles were still sore, but otherwise, she'd have to say that she was in good health. Draped around her was two instead of one layer of cloth, and it wasn't around her either.

Raki had returned.

He had set up the campfire with enough wood to keep the cold just out, if only for the night.

She also realized that she was scurlted up in the foetal position against his barely (and illegally) concealed chest, which had only a very thin layer of cloth between her left shoulder and his tanned skin. Raki had one eye opened and another closed, and looked as though one half of him was asleep and the other was keeping watch.

Taking care of her.

He gave a small smile down at her, and both eyes popped open before looking away from her pretty face, towards the campfire that he had set up.

"You're awake." He said quietly, "I'm sorry you had to wake up, well – like this but I didn't know what to do." He looked anywhere but at her (and also duly noted that he had neglected to hand her one of his extra tunics), due to his doubts in his ability to control himself should his impulses dictate reasoning. "You were shivering, and – ah, well… I just did what came to mind.

And as she too, realised that save for the cloak, she was still naked –

"I didn't do anything inappropriate!"

Leave it to Raki to turn any situation into a situation comedy.

There it was again.

She was giggling, and he soon found out that it was irresistible to follow any chain of her laughter, simply because –

Because she was irresistible.

Miria had an aura about her that Clare seemed to oppose in every sense. Where Clare was like the flower in a cold storm, Miria was that great tree during the summer. Clare's ethereal beauty was matched (and he knew he would be damned to the pits for this) blow for blow by the earthly beauty that Miria radiated.

And much to his shock, he didn't mind comparing the beauties of respective fine ladies.

It could have been the after-effect of walking into that petrified tree. Bah!

"I wouldn't put it past you to do so, Raki – and…" Now or never! "I don't think… that I would mind."

For a moment, the gears in Raki's head ceased their function, and the coherency of thought ceased, as his eyes scanned what looked like a blush and the biting of teeth against delicate pouting lips.

Oh no.

Oh Gods, no. She – she remembered what he had done before? Of course she would remember you gut-sucking ignoramus! No one forgets any experience with the fairer sex! No one! He remembered the touch of her lips, the gentle sin that was her tongue, the warmth of lust and the pull of passion…

And prayed to the Heavens that Little Raki did not have it out for him.

Silence reigned for a good minute, as neither party had the guts nor the gall to continue where Miria had left off. The situation had just spiralled from awkward in borderline chaotic, and all it would take was just one wrong word to slip out and Raki knew that, being the weaker sex, would either fall into the pleasures of sin or have this female warrior with the strength of a bull to tear open a new one!

Hell, he decided to lighten the mood anyway.

With a topic that would either doom him or provide him with vitals.

"Miria, do you know where Clare is?"

Clare? Clare?! What was he thinking?! No, scratch that, what was his brain doing in the tropics?! Isn't it meant to be in his head so he could, I don't know, THINK? Raki,, although an unwitting and unknowing master in pleasure, was definitely clueless about the opposite sex. He had just asked a girl he just practically went to third base with about a girl who landed him at first base seven accursed years ago!

The speed of stupid is truly faster than the speed of light.

"Clare?" he didn't look swayed, and to his own relief, he saw that Miria hadn't opted to take her sword and shove it down his throat, "I'm sorry, but – I don't know about her current whereabouts. She… went with Helen and Deneve and Uma to the East, while I went North-West." She recalled her orders, "To find Isley of the North."

Raki flinched at the name. He had bad enough memories as it was about that man, and he held no joy in recalling them any time soon, if his previous reminiscing was of any clue or indication of that fact.

He had enough nightmares of Isley and Priscilla indulging in dark pleasures hidden from the world's eyes.

"But that Captain you incapacitated," she closed her eyes for a while, leaning against his arm, "She said that there were two squadrons hunting down after us. And one of them…" she paused again, "Was headed in the same direction as Clare and the others were."

Raki's face concealed a chaotic array of worry and protectiveness.

If a squadron could do this to Miria, who had been ranked Number Six (He vaguely remembered) before her abandonment, and moved faster than any being alive, what would they do to Clare? Had Clare become stronger during his absence? Had Miria taught her any moves or strategies during their time of separation?

But she'd be all right, wouldn't she? She had yet to keep her promise. They hadn't seen each other yet. They both had promised, back when that nightmarish lady-monster had tried to kill the both of them for fun. She'd told him to survive.

And she said she'd do the same. She said she'd find him. He would find her. And then he'd protect her and no one else would ever cause her harm, now and forever.

Miria.

What? Why had her name suddenly pop up?

"I know she'll be all right, Raki." She spoke, looking into his eyes with a light of reassurance and comfort. "If I've learned anything about Clare from the past seven years, it's the fact that she's too damned stubborn to die from anything." She gave a smile which radiated its dishonesty in droves, "And she still has to find you." Words weren't meant to hurt this much, were they? "Cheer up."

Raki's coherency ended there and then, as Miria, still exhausted from her Yoki depletion, curled up against his chest in her Goddess glory (He'd slap himself later for thinking like this again), and his left hand unconsciously drifted to –

Her butt.

Ears red, eyes wide and a blush spreading faster than a mob of ants over a cake, Miria looked into Raki's eyes as the young man stood still, as if his very movement would trigger the end of his existence.

On a side note, he also noticed that the flushed look was positively adorable on her.

And then he duly noted that she was giving off slight shivers and – that once again, she was drifting into the land of dreams. Rapidly thinking for once, he noted that because of her depletion in Yoki, Miria had essentially become as vulnerable as he was to the cold. The only difference?

She had no clothes on.

Cursing under his breath, he abandoned the comfort of the cloaks and left them to Miria, and walked over to his rucksack, small as it was, to search for a change of wear for Miria; preferably, something that was thick enough to go along with the campfire to keep the cold away from her. Miria automatically curled herself up against the layers of cloak as Raki searched through the little pile he wore.

He had opted to travel light since Isley, and had around one or two changes lying around with some herbs if that was any indication of the lightness of his luggage. His bow was tossed one side, and he rummaged until he found a tunic.

It was maroon, and if he had taken a guess, he would have said it was probably one of the thick ones that Isley had given him during their travels together. It looked warm enough, and it would have to do for the night. He'd make something up for tomorrow to wholly cover Miria.

"Here, wear this." He handed her the tunic, which she wore, and the both of them rested in opposite spots to the campfire, both facing it, and yet, not facing one another.

Raki was tempted to mention that the over-sized tunic made her more adorable than he could imagine…

But fatigue was bearing on him. He hadn't eaten in a whole day, slept for two, and had been on the road for a good several months. And now, he had to add the fact that he had made forplay with a beautiful, wonderful woman who was not only one of Clare's allies, but was probably raring to go again.

Sometimes, sleep just solved all problems for him.

He didn't dream; he hadn't had one since he left Clare, but…

The fire danced in his eyes as he rested his head on his knees, eyes heavy, muscles slacking and the wind chilling him, even as the flames raged before him.

And the last thing he saw were Clare's eyes; how they got here he wouldn't know, he wouldn't care. Apparition or no, he welcomed them… silver and stoic, warm and cold at the same time. Beckoning him…

Or were they Miria's eyes?

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

"You're cold." Miria pointed out with a frown.

Now this had to be a dream.

Because there was no way in Hells or the Heaven was there a certain Number Six above him, eyes concerned, and hair falling to her sides, that red tunic still on her being along with one leg unwittingly placed between his legs.

"M-Miria, what are you – ?" he barely managed to stutter, before the woman cracked a whip of words.

"Take off your clothes."

When he hesitated, Miria did it for him.

Raki didn't know whether to stop her or enjoy this particular sensation, because he knew the more he thought about it, the more he wouldn't act.

And she'd just keep stripping and stripping and strip –

"Whoa!" he cried out as she handled his waist rather roughly.

And truth be told, (And praying to Clare that if she was reading his mind, to forgive him) he enjoyed it, by the Gods!

Off went the pants.

Off went the tunic.

And into the two cloaks they went.

His birthday must have come early this year.

Both naked by the dying fire, and Raki still drowsy (and still unsure if he was dreaming), Miria wrapped her arms around his waist pressing her whole body against him, soft mounds against his own muscle, and the taut muscle of her waist pushing up against his… yeah, this wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare!

"You've been shivering for hours, Raki." She rested her head against his chest, breathing in his scent; his musk. "It would appear that the campfire was no use to you in keeping your warmth in this kind of weather."

This was a matter of survival now.

Miria knew that the normal humans could not survive long in extreme weather such as this blizzard very long. They'd freeze their butts off! Raki had been tending to her all day (although, she had to admit, he was more of a – oh, she couldn't say it!), and had ignored his own needs. The young man certainly could not endure this blizzard without an external source of warmth to regulate the antibodies and enzymes in his body, now could he? While Miria's body was working at minimal capacity, she had no doubt that the campfire, which had grown small over time, would provide adequate external heating for her body to recharge its heat generation.

Raki would undobtedly shiver to death in this sub-zero weather.

So she decided with the solution of body heat.

Her Passionate side gave a whoop of joy when the fine man lost his pants.

I guess this was as close as I'll get then… she gave a bitter smile, hidden from Raki's eyes. Clare you lucky little bitch.

She supposed that would be it. Preserve their lives by hugging in the nude as a dying fire danced its last…

But it wasn't.

It was far from the end result.

And like it or not, she would be the one to begin a chain of events that would undoubtedly change things now and forever. For herself. For Raki…

And for Clare.

"Hey… are you getting all… touchy-feely?" Raki held her closer, a small smile glazing over his face as

"It's just to keep warm. I'm… not exactly at my full strength right now, you know."

"Yeah. Seven swords through the abdomen would do that to you." He tried to lighten the mood, introducing humor into the mold. Somewhere up there, someone was laughing at him.

Silence reigned again. How do you joke when the person you're talking with… was naked and had you as good as pudding in the mush? How do you do it?

Miria shifted uncomfortably against the young man, sighing as she did so, listening to the steady beat of hie heart.

And the warmth of his chest. That wonderful, wonderful, warmth.

A warmth she desired to be hers. The warmth of this man. The heart of purity that no male could hope to match.

Raki's heart.

Clare.

Clare was so lucky.

Could she betray Clare? Her subordinate? One of her closest friends?

But she couldn't help herself. He – He was here, now, and… and Clare wasn't.

What would she do? She had him! He was here!

Lips so adorable you'd just want to hungrily claim and never let go…

She barely knew him!

A warmth unlike no other; the very reason Clare's sanity was still with her to this very day…

Clare… he was Clare's. Not hers. She couldn't –

She wouldn't –

Not to Clare –

No.

"Raki?" a soft voice, eyes cloudy and melancholic.

Three inches.

"Yeah?"

Two inches.

"Do you mind?"

One inch.

Kiss.

"Miria?"

"Yes, Raki?"

"I…" it had to be said. If they were to make it through the cold, he had to say it. "I don't mind."

As his lips descended upon her longing ones, his mind lost its inhibitions, and no more words were spoken.

They didn't need words that night.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Raki, eyes lidded, looked at the prone form of Miria, curled up against his chest, as the fire warmed their intwined beings with the black cloak that served as a quilt. He mused; Claymores, after coital sessions were, more often than not, easily exhausted. His arms wrapped around the older woman, causing a shift in touch as the blizzard raged on outside the shelter of their cave. He could feel it, along with her skin… skin that his senses had the fortune to touch and taste as he would like.

What now? After this… can I? Can I face Clare again? His thoughts raged; his breathing growing uneven; his head pounding as if he had just run a hundred mile marathon in the desert sun.

But he pushed back those thoughts to the back of his head and drew Miria closer as the flames danced in the reflection in his eyes. There would be ramifications to this night. Repercussions; lies; truths; they would all be told.

His eyes finally lost their strength, closing to the world; to reality.

He dreamt of Clare that night, and words that he never thought he would hear; in reality or fantasy.

Goodbye.

The End (For Now…)

A/N: If you review, please, for the love of God, refrain from mentioning me to UPDATE my previous works. I'm not your slave, and I'll do them in my own time, thank you very much. DO NOT, especially, mention Greatest Hero or tell me what works I should do next, because they only serve to annoy me and make me NOT want to do them. Review for this story ONLY. And don't say UPDATE SOON and leave it at that. I want FEEDBACK. All reviews are to mention pros and cons. That's is all. All reviews should ALSO be more than 4 SENTENCES and more than 10 WORDS.