A/N: Yes...Daphlar's first. I am in love with this couple. There might be a few moments missing from this, but I think I did pretty good.

This one's to Lara. Who shares the Daphlar enthusiasm. And to Raisa (sighs) who just pushed me to have her name on this.

Snapshots

Part Endless: Sylar and Daphne

Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray ponders. Sometimes he wonders where she went, when her only goodbye was a whoosh of air when she ran away from him. He wonders why she ran away, why run from him, they were each other's best friend, but she just went.

Sometimes wondering isn't enough, he should be out there, looking for her, and telling her how much she meant to him, that she was the one who saved him. She saved whoever he was supposed to be, saved his humanity and whatever love that was left inside him.

What he pitied the most was there were no pictures of her, what was left of her was in his own mind. And, in his own mind, he could recollect everything. Her appearance, her smile, everything about her. He could visualize her blonde hair, her smile as she sat next to him. What he would give for these dreams, these visuals, to come true.

He wants Daphne, he wants his best friend, he wants her to be there for him. In his new life, he still missed one thing from his old one, and that one thing was her.

He knows their army, the men and women kept caged behind hard glass windows, banging on them madly as a show for the guards, because they all know they're getting out very soon. Their entire league is here, all, as Knox has said, except one.

Her name is anonymous but, through Knox's description, she sounds like a dog. A faithful woman, as he described, with no intention of leaving for them on the opposite side, or leaving at all, for that matter. He doesn't see her until breakout day.

Sylar leans against the wall, arms crossed and comfortable enough in his Level 5 attire of glorified pajamas. He contemplates, because it's today, he's not nervous-he's Sylar-it's just today. He sees his biological mother, her cell is exactly opposite his, and he can see her in the same position he's in.

He likes the fact that Natasha's his mother, because that would explain why he was never fitted into the Gray scenario: because he was never part of it in the first place. But that would also mean Peter Petrelli was his damned brother. He had to have a brother, and it had to be Petrelli.

The bastard was why he was here in the first place, and he hates him. There's proof, too, something he can't erase. She's shown him the picture; she holds it like a scar, just as he holds his Sylar watch the same way.

Sylar goes to Kirby Plaza knowing the truth, but he doesn't show compassion for his estranged brother. Because Peter's still a bastard-loving, empathic, his other half-and Sylar's still a monster, and monsters never show compassion, no matter what blood tells them about their past.

He just let Peter explode, merely dying there because of Hiro Nakamura's stab through him. But he survived, and life is better. One more thing he detests is Natasha's told him they were once a family, that him and Peter were once actually brothers, spending their infancy together as normal as he hated to be.

A tap on the glass window, and he stops thinking. He turns around and sees a blonde woman. She's pretty, he has to give her that, with a short bob that adorns her face, and what a sweet, innocent-looking face that is.

The world is different as she hands him her hand when the glass door rolls down for their escape. They lock eyes, and he instantly concludes she's not like him, like them. She's not a killer, not a senseless murderer as the others are. She's like a deer in their league of lions. She could be slaughtered in moments.

He can instantly say she and he were so different, different backgrounds-he can guess she's had a homely upbringing- , different agendas, but it's as if they're two halves of the same coin. He gets out of the cell, and sees agents overhead. Bullets head for the two of them, and Sylar, on reflex, pushes the woman aside and stops the bullets with his trusty TK.

He looks at the frightened agents, then to the blonde woman on the floor who looks just as taken aback as he is. He's not used to a team, maybe it's just an impulse to keep the people on his side safe.

Sylar hates Peter Petrelli. The empath beat the hell out of him, and there he was, worthless. He was the monster in the story, but he is quite proud of his brother. He just showed the aggressive in him, who cared if it was for the damned cheerleader?

He's being nursed in the confines of his new room. The door is blue, and it's pitiful. He detests it beyond all reason. But he doesn't really care at the moment. Daphne-that's the deer's name-has a piece of cloth dabbed on his cheek, meant to collect the blood Peter Petrelli spilt on him.

"You got hit up pretty badly," she says. Small talk-another thing he detests. He can make a whole list of them.

"I hate him," Sylar says.

"Who, Peter?" Daphne asks. Sylar nods as she continues to dip the cloth in water then it returns to his face.

"Hate is a strong word," Daphne says.

She sounds like a little girl; convinced that stupid is still a bad word, and no one really hates anyone. She really is a deer, then. He admires her, for a second that she can keep that part of her, even after she's been adopted into this evil league Natasha's made for them.

"You don't seem like the rest of them," Sylar says, looking at her, his rough, big ones looks slowly into her small, timid ones.

"I'm not," Little Deer says, her head held low, the cloth in her hand on her lap, stopping her attention to him. "I've got nowhere else to go."

Suddenly, her second of grief-it's grief, it's painted so evidently on her face-is gone, and she's smiling at him. He almost has the impulse to smile back. He hasn't smiled a real smile in a long time. It's always menacing, or a smirk. Maybe Little Deer can bring it out of him.

She gets up, bring the bucket of water with her with the cloth in her other hand. She leans against his doorway, and says, "Bye, Sy." Nicknames, the Lord had no mercy against him.

Could anyone conceive that she would make a friend all in the course in a few hours? Let alone with a serial killer. "So, tell me, Deer, about your family," Sylar says, leaning in his chair.

They're in the cafeteria, food just lies abandoned between them on the table, and both are equally content with the situation. Sylar's taken a liking to calling her Deer whenever the opportunity presents itself, just as Daphne continues to annoy him with his own nickname: Sy. Deer could've been a nice nickname if it was spelled right, but now, it just sounds condescending coming out of Sylar's mouth.

"I grew up in a corn field," Daphne starts.

"Corn? Smallville, much?" Sylar teases her. Yeah, there is a similarity, but that's where it stops. She's not an alien, she's just different.

"My mom died, and then my father became a single dad. I didn't have any brothers or sisters, it was a lonely life," Daphne says. "It made me appreciate my dad more, I guess."

"Your life is one tragic story, Deer," Sylar says.

She looks at him; she doubts he's ever felt this loss. She's read his file: cookies and oatmeal when he wants them, love and hugs from his mother whenever he needs them. Grades couldn't have been looked down upon, it's their little Gabriel, he's the good one.

She would give anything to be embraced by her mother, by her father or her mother, just one more time. Her father died, and that's the reason she's here, because she's kept running and running, she should've figured she'd hit a wall if she wasn't careful.

That wall was Knox, and there was no door out. But she was fine, she was okay, she had somewhere to belong to now. She never wants to go back to her home; it's just a house now. No parents, nothing to keep her there, it's just four walls with no inside.

"It's fine," Daphne says, her head held low.

"For the record, Deer, you turned out pretty good given the circumstances," Sylar says. This coming from a serial killer? From a monster that's not supposed to give a damn about her or anything?

"We should get going. Natasha's got us running observation," Sylar says, getting up, pocketing his hands in his coat pockets. Daphne looks at him, and thinks; maybe he's good after all. Maybe he can run away from all of this, he still has a chance.

His knowing brown eyes search hers, and she answers, with a subtle smile, "Yeah, we should."

He's the only person she talks to. The young Millbrook says nice things to the others, but Sylar's the only person she can actually talk to. They couldn't be more different, though.

He's a killer, murderous blood runs easily through him, but she, she's nothing like him. Couldn't wield a gun, could never have the sudden heart to stab someone, figuratively or literally. Sylar, he's a wizard at lies and deceit, she can never tell when she's being played or not.

Daphne's his polar opposite. She's here because she has nowhere else to go; he's here out of obligation for his mother, and the hereditary need to make an impact on the world.

Daphne knows about Linderman, the "humanitarian" in his own words, wanting to explode half of New York, not to mention his own son in the process. Wanted to save the world, unite the world, whatever crap he wanted to do.

But Sylar's not like that, he wouldn't let innocent people die, what he does is at his expense, to take what others didn't deserve. But she knew he couldn't have stood for that. He's the only one that knows her, knows everything she likes, she dislikes, and, as much as she hates to admit it, he's a good friend.

He might be sarcastic, over crossing sadistic sometimes, but he's a good friend. And she sometimes hopes there's a part of him that genuinely cares about her, and she's his friend as much as he is to her. It's strange, that they've only known each other for a few days, but, yet, they've connected on every level.

He doesn't expect her to change just because she's in there with them, and she doesn't expect him to change. Killing's in his blood, and she can try to stop that, only knowing she never will. She can try to persuade him to be a better person, to actually be good, but she knows it's going to go out the other ear.

"Hey, Sy," Daphne says to him. They're in his room, after lunch, and the serial killer's legs are crossed with dozens of scattered documents amongst them.

"Yes?" he asks, not looking at her, he's too preoccupied. He's wearing his watchmaker glasses, he looks like a nerd, but he looks good. He looks like Gabriel.

"Do you think we're special?" Daphne asks. It's been a question on the tip of her tongue for a long time. And who knows better about all of this than Sylar? He looks at her, forgets about the documents.

"God created Man, but Man has made a lot of choices, a lot of bad choices. Why choose war instead of peace? Why kill innocence and children? Why abandon love when they have knocked on your door? It's His cruel joke to all of us. That he created us, and gave us the freedom of choice. He intervenes, no doubt, maybe that's why we're like this," Sylar says.

"You think it's at the hand of God?" Daphne asks.

"Some say evolution, some say God. What does it matter now? It's the past, it's happened; its ink has dented history. We should keep quiet about everything. Not ask questions, and let it be," Sylar says.

"Do you regret that you ended up like this?" Daphne asks.

"It's not regret, Daphne, it wasn't my choice. Perhaps it's sadness, maybe. I've always wanted to be special," Sylar says, looking down at his documents again, not facing her. "God just figured out an unusual way to make that happen."

"It's okay to feel normal every once in a while," Daphne says to him, her hand inches from his.

"Being normal means being insignificant," Sylar says.

She can see him now, not Sylar, but Gabriel. God, he looks so innocent, how did he jump so suddenly? How did he become this, knowing nothing but the inside of the brain as he inspects the organ as the victim lies dead before him? Daphne would've given anything to see Gabriel.

"You'll never be insignificant to me," she says. He looks at her, he doesn't smile-he's Sylar-but she can see it in his eyes that he wants to.

Everything's so fuzzy; maybe this is what a hangover feels like, one punch from an empath is equivalent to a six shots of vodka. She's a good girl; she's never been drunk before, she knows the amount of beer she can take down before everything seems hurdling towards her.

She opens her eyes, and sees that she's no longer on the floor Peter left her on, she's nestled comfortably in her bed, sheets pulled up to her chest. And icepack near by, and a bloody cloth to match. Someone must've sent her a Godsend nurse.

Daphne sits up, and sees on the chair opposite her bed is a sleeping form, hands on his stomach while his chest rises and falls. She knew it; there must've been some good in Sylar. He groans as he turns his position ever so slightly in his chair, but resuming in his sleep in moments.

She knows not to disturb him; he looks like he needs his sleep. So she just watches him, and merely wonders. What if Elle never intervened into his life, would he still be a little Gray watchmaker in Queens? Yes, he's told her about Elle, about the way she saved his suicide attempt, and pushed and pushed him until he killed again.

It was a pattern that couldn't be stopped after that, he started knowing, he started wanting, and then started the killings. Road trips to out of the way towns only to kill and spread a manhunt for him. Heads cut off, brains removed, she knew the MO, she knew how he killed.

She shuddered at the thought of the friends and families of the victims Sylar brutally took life from. Charlene Andrews, Texas, James Walker, Los Angeles, and dozens of others on his shopping list.

But, now, here he is, sleeping soundly in her room, he's been sober for two years. Killing's his addiction, not gambling, or drinking, like normal people, because God knows Gabriel's never been normal. And even that, his sobriety was because he was stuck in captivity, she didn't want to imagine what the world would be like if he actually didn't get captured.

Dozens more murders filled the blanks when Sylar was supposed to be tucked inside Level 5, hundreds more mourners, and the world utterly changed because of the pursuit to capture the sick bastard. What she would give to see her pursuits to make him a good man had actually paid off.

Those hours spent talking to him about good or bad choices, the regrets, all being led up to the path of redemption, and it would actually mean something. She'd actually change someone's life, and in a good way, at that.

Daphne knows Sylar can be good, it's at the heart of every human being, and it only takes a few hard moments to get it to pull through. She knows he can stop this façade of being special, and different, and do something with his life. It's never too late.

She has nothing, he, he has something to work on. A family, a twin brother that she knows wants him to be on the same side as him, a niece; people to take care of him. He'll be good, and have a family, have a son, have a wife by his side. She'll be at the sidelines, happy for him. That's what best friends do.

"You're up," Sylar says, looking at her.

"Hi," Daphne says, smiling at him.

"Are you going to tell me what happened there?" Sylar asks her.

"No, not really," Daphne says. "It's better if you don't know."

"Okay," Sylar says.

"Go back to sleep, you look like you need it," Daphne says, getting up from her bed, starting towards the door. "You can take the bed."

Sylar looks up at her, and smiles. He gets up and lands on Daphne's bed. She can only imagine how he tucked her in, with the sheets pulled up, comfortable and homey. She wants to do the same. In the light, he looks exactly like Peter, the resemblance is uncanny; they really are twins.

Daphne gets the blanket and pulls it up. She whispers, as he begins to fall asleep on her bed, "Thank you."

When Sylar goes missing, her insides are burning up. She feels remorseful, sad and determined all at the same time. She knows how he feels about Natasha's plan, and she was her to tell her she couldn't do anything about it, that they couldn't do anything about.

Sylar is, evidently, Natasha's son, and he decided to take matters in his own hands. Where he went, she doesn't know, but she's determined to find out. Daphne needs to find him, because it's for him this place is worth living in. her life is worth living when she has someone she knows won't desert her.

It might be Sylar, and people might have their skepticism, but she knows him, just as he knows her. But he left, a part of her says. It wasn't because of her, no; it was because of his mother. He would've stayed if he could. He would've stayed, goes through Daphne's mind like a mantra, trying to reassure herself that that's the truth. That he wouldn't have deserted her if things were different, he would've stayed. They were friends…right?

So he runs, he tries to remain inconspicuous to the outside world, but his attire-black trench coat and jeans-makes everyone on the plane look at him suspicious. He sits alone-he's Sylar-and looks out the window. Nothing but puffy clouds, serene, it was, and everything seems forgotten in the world.

He remembers a time when he boarded a plane, and he was so excited. Ten year old Gabriel Gray was going to Florida to visit his aunt Carol, and the little boy sat excitedly near the window so he could see everything and anything that they hit along the way.

His Mama and Pap fell asleep, growing tired of Gabriel's antics and his pointing out every single cloud and how he thought each of them resembled a Cocoa Puff. He wore his glasses that day, looking like a good little nerd on the plane.

In the distance, Sylar can almost hear a little boy cry out, "Look, Pap: a Cocoa Puff!" Now, look at him now, trying to run from the only place he ever belonged in, no rules, he made them himself. Little Gabe never really had someone to lean on as a child, a few friends, others he pushed away in adolescence, and others that pushed him away. He was always a loner, a one-man show on the stage of the world.

Then there's Daphne. He feels guilty for leaving her there. He knows how left out she is there, and he's the only person she can talk to. He almost feels pity, but he knows he shouldn't. The girl's done so much for him; she's had the effect on him as she has on him.

Sylar sighs. He wants to go home, but he doesn't know where home is. His Queens home isn't there anymore, sold after his mother's death, the Gray and Sons shop also lies abandoned after he's fixed his last watch, that last watch being Elle Bishop's.

He doesn't feel at home at the Russian facility, mostly because it was built to be a facility, not a home. Maybe he'll never have the luxury of home, maybe his life will always be like this, an outcast. Before he knows it, he's falling asleep, and when he wakes up, it's where it truly begins.

If he steps out of this plane, there's no telling if he'll ever come back. Come back to whoever or whatever that's waiting. Come back to Daphne.

"What were you talking about?" Daphne asks him as he sits down on his own bed in the Russian facility.

They've just traveled at the speed of sound, and here they are, here he is, back to where he started. Who was he kidding, that he was actually going to reconcile with his brother, to tell him how to fight them. He's just a monster. It's what every person he encountered told him.

His adoptive parents, his real mother, his team, even Daphne said it. But he shrugged it off, feeling that it was just who he was, and he didn't care what everyone else thought. Only, now he did.

"About what?" Sylar asks back, knowing full well what she's asking about.

"About you being a monster, back in Las Vegas," Daphne says, sitting next to him.

"It's the truth, isn't it?" Sylar asks.

"You've changed," Daphne says tenderly.

"What makes you say that? I just killed DL Hawkins, Daph, and there's no telling if I'm ever going to stop," Sylar says, looking down at his lap.

Daphne crosses her legs on his bed, and takes his hand in hers. Even by that, he doesn't look at her.

"You wanted to go to Las Vegas, to find your brother. You couldn't stand to look at Peter, but you were going there. Your intentions were good," Daphne says.

She's right. He despises Peter beyond all reason, yet he was the one boarding a flight to him. He wonders what would've happened if he actually went through it, what could've happened if he hadn't found a detour in DL Hawkins.

"You're amazing," Sylar confesses.

It's true: who else can tell him this kind of truth? The other side of the story? Natasha couldn't, her storytelling is a sinister spin, and the others wouldn't have cared. Daphne's the only one. He leans into her, it's on impulse, and, really, he can't blame himself.

What else could he do, to the one person that understood him better than anyone? In more ways than one, she's the Claire to his Peter, as much as he hates the sentiment. They might not have had the massacred Homecoming, or the revelation that they were related, but they connected, as corny as that sounds. And God knows

Sylar hates corny, but, when it comes to Daphne, all the gooey icky stuff he avoided through his life comes out. Piles of it, and how he detests it. He might be 'changed' but he's still Sylar and he still throws shit at people who say the things he's thinking now, like Peter and Claire.

He kisses her. Daphne's as shocked as he is, but they fall in each other's arms, landing on his bed. It's Daphne, it should've been striking, he should've felt that spark, or that tingle everyone else feels, but he doesn't. He feels nothing, truth is, he feels better when they're just talking.

She feels it, too, apparently, and she pulls away. Sylar gets off her, feeling awkward as hell. Both of them sit in silence for a while, and it's almost like a sitcom, when the man kisses the wrong person at the New Years party, and both of them just stand in silence. God, he can hear crickets.

"I'm sorry," Sylar finally says. It doesn't feel right, it sounds alien coming out of his mouth.

"You…shouldn't be, neither of us knew," Daphne says. "We had to give it a try."

"So we're okay?" he asks.

"We're okay," Daphne chuckles at him. He looks at her, still seeing her bent nose from the downhill mission. She's never actually told him what happened.

"What exactly happened?" Sylar asks, touching her nose.

"Peter punched me," Daphne exhales.

"He what?" Sylar asks.

"Hey, it wasn't his fault, I brought it to myself," she says.

"Still, he shouldn't have punched you," Sylar argues.

"We're actually fighting about this? After seconds after we kissed? Bad timing, Sy, bad timing," Daphne says to him. He can tell she's joking.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Sylar asks her, his fake stare looking into hers.

"I could give you an awkward silence. I know how much you hate them," Daphne smiles. She looks at him, and puts her hand on his cheek. He leans into her cheek, like she's cupping his face one sided.

"I should get going. There a lot of stuff to do," Daphne says, getting up. She walks through the door but turns back on second thought. "For what it's worth, you're a pretty good kisser," she smiles at him. Thanks.

"He's my best friend," she answered.

"It's Sylar, isn't it?" Peter asked, and Daphne nodded proudly. "Not to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but that man is incapable of feeling. He's incapable of loving even one bit."

"You're wrong!" Daphne yelled, angered.

It reels over and over again in her head. As soon as she's conscious, she runs. She doesn't give a damn about the dead body she saw, not to anyone who catches her running.

All she hears are Peter's words, and all she sees is Peter's face as she says it. She can't think straight anymore, but her feet seem to know where she wants to go, so she lets them get in charge. Peter's wrong, Sylar is capable of feeling.

She knows it, why would he have kissed her if that didn't mean anything, that she didn't mean anything to him? Of course she means something to him, because he certainly means something to her.

He's her best friend, the best friend she's ever had. He's the person she can talk to. He might not have lovely sentiments in spare, but he has thinly-veiled compliments to give her. She knows he doesn't like anything too corny, because he's Sylar and he's not really the person on television to speak out those lines to her, but that's okay.

It's okay because he's still there for her, she doesn't have to look for him. She can just call his name, and he comes running. She remembers seeing a show on TV, a few years ago, before all this happened. It was just something that randomly flipped on, but it meant something now.

Two people who are completely there for each other, they might've had their fights, but they make up eventually. That's her and Sylar right there on the screen. She can only imagine what he would've said if she told him.

He would've laughed, but it would've been true.

She runs to her bedroom, and when she sees the solitary that is her bed, she falls to the ground, and leans against the bed. She's crying, she started crying a long time ago, but this is the time where actual tears came pouring out.

She sobbed, held her legs against her chest and put her head where her knees were. It's been a long time since she held herself in this position; the last time was when her father died, when she refused to talk to anyone that showed up at the funeral.

She just shut herself in her room, and cried. She was alone now, her mother gone, her father dealt the same cruel fate, and there she was. And here she is.

Maybe Peter's right. How long she spends her time like that, just sitting and contemplating, she doesn't know, but, before she knows it, a tap on the door stops her.

"Daphne?" he calls out. Sylar.

"Go away, Sy," Daphne says.

"Talk to me, you just left, Daph. I don't understand," Sylar says. He taps on the door again.

"Is Peter right?" she asks.

"About what?" he asks back.

"About you not having the capability to love?" Daphne asks. She looks up from her position, expecting an answer. She can hear a groan coming from the opposite side of the door.

"Don't tell me you're even listening to my idiot brother," Sylar says, and curses under his breath.

"Then who should I listen to? You never tell me anything," Daphne says.

"Are you kidding, Daph? I tell you everything," Sylar says. Daphne gets up at that, and presses her palms against the wooden door. She feels him on the opposite side, his back against the door.

"You're the only one that matters now. Natasha's psychotic, the others don't give a damn about me. You're the only I care about anymore. I've lost all sense of belonging, except when it comes to you," Sylar says. Maybe she's wrong; maybe he is the person that says these things.

"Who am I supposed to listen to now?" Daphne asks.

"Me. You're supposed to listen to me. Not Peter. I'm your friend, you should listen to me," Sylar says. She can feel her heart breaking right then.

"Give me one good reason why," Daphne says.

Because…because I love you," Sylar finally says.

Daphne opens the door, and Sylar practically jumps up to face her. She embraces him, old tears welcoming the new ones that are streaming down her face. "I love you, too," she says.

Both of them know it's coming, it's like an eclipse shining over them, it's only time before it's a total one. Both of them don't talk about it. Daphne's too scared, and Sylar's too mad to open his mouth.

He knows he can't do anything about it, so both of them dodge the subject, which is easy for them. They find something to talk about over nothing. They talk about their lives, they talk about their families, they talk about everything they want in life. She feels like she's fifteen all over again, and being with Sylar is one huge sleepover that never ends.

He's still Sylar, even after they say they love each other. He's still sarcastic, but not so much anymore, he's still distant, but he's learning to take one step towards her every day, and he's still broken, but she's doing all she can to fix him.

He teaches her about watches, how each of them is tiny timepieces that he knows. He knows how fix them and break them all over again. He thinks they're beautiful. It's not easy to get Sylar to talk passionately about something; it seems watches are the only things that catch his attention.

She tells him about how wonderful it is to run as fast as possible. He doesn't think so; he thinks it's windy and not as great. But she tells him that running the only way to forget everything. If you teleport, you'll take just a millisecond to do it, but if there's super speed, it's different. It's slower; you can walk on water if you're careful, and it's wonderful. It's her fairytale, she's always wanted to escape, and running makes that possible.

They talk about everything, it's the only way to stop time and think it's just them in the world. They pass everyone, and she's in a jovial state, she can't even remember when she's been this happy. Probably before her father's death.

"What about Elle?" she asks suddenly.

"What about Elle?" he shoots back.

"Do you ever think about her?" Daphne asks.

"All the time," Sylar says, looking at her.

Elle to Sylar is like her parents to her, they're distant memories of the past, but they keep coming back up to surface. They try to swim away from it, it just follows you.

"Did you love her?" Daphne asks.

"I don't know," Sylar answers.

She could've the one for him; Elle could've been the one for Sylar. Daphne wants him to be happy, and maybe Elle was the way, if she hadn't turned out to be a manipulative, lying Company bitch.

"What about you?" Sylar asks her.

"What about me?" Daphne asks.

"Do you have an Elle in your life?" Sylar asks.

"Nope, just me," Daphne looks down from his stare.

Sylar envelopes her hands in his, and says, "You have me."

Truth is, she doesn't know why she ran. Why she ran from him, the man she made him out to be. Her work well done, he's the one that killed two of their crew. But she's the one who ran. She always thought if anyone was going to break them, it would be him. But, no, it's her. She left, and she hates herself for doing it.

"I loved him, he was my best friend. I thought he was going to leave, but it was me, I was the one who left."

Do you regret it?

"Every minute of the day. I just want to see him, and I mean really see him. I can't spend every month looking through his frosted window knowing he won't look back."

Do you think he would've done the same thing?

"No, he would've stayed. I used to think that was the fake truth, but it's true now. He would've stayed."

Any idea why you did it?

"Maybe I was too scared. I pushed and pushed him to be a better person. The moment I see it, the good him, it's like everything's falling apart. Which doesn't make any sense, right?"

Nothing makes sense anymore.

"Seconded."

If he came here, and told you he wanted to see you again, would you let him?

"Absolutely. If he ever comes looking, I'm always here for him."

Good to know, Daphne.

"We should go now."

Yeah, we should.

A/N: Please please review! I need the critisizm. Virtual Milo-shaped cookies if you review!

Next UP: Peter and Molly

-Aly