"Son of a bitch!"
Twisted Fate rummaged messily through his kitchen, looking for one of the health elixirs that he'd stolen from Summoner's Rift, as Graves wailed and grunted loudly from the other room. From what Fate had seen from the quick glimpse at the bar, the bullet had gone through his shoulder, missing bones and vital spots but leaving a small, bleeding hole. Twisted Fate was thankful for his quick thinking – if he'd hesitated for just a moment, both of them would have been sprayed, no doubt – but now it seemed that he didn't think quick enough. He did, after all, now have an arch-enemy in his home, one who was like an angry bull. Only this bull had a giant gun capable of decimating walls.
His hands groped blindly around the cupboards. He distantly thought of how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found out that he'd stolen the elixir, but then again, only fools were plagued about those types of things. If he acted with trouble on his mind, then trouble was all he was going to get. He clumsily knocked some saltshakers and spices around, but found no familiar red bottle anywhere. He groped in the fridge to no avail. He finally found the potion behind some cans of green beans, a little warm but still good enough. Behind him in his living room, Graves released another onslaught of colorful swears before groaning and falling silent.
Fate rushed from the kitchen to the living room, where Graves was making a lot of noise on the couch. Leaning over his former partner, he investigated the wound, finding the small but bloody gash on this right shoulder. He made moves to pour the elixir on the wound.
"Don't you dare put your hands on me," Graves growled, his eyes wheeling to meet Fate's. "I'll kill you if you lay a finger on me."
Twisted Fate couldn't fight a smile. "You'll kill me regardless, Malcolm."
"Don't act all smug," he snarled savagely. "I'm not foolin around with you. They may have gotten my shoulder but I still got my shootin hand ready. You'd be dead in a second."
Fate laughed and tipped his hat down. "You say that as if you can actually do anythin, partner," he said wryly. "Last time I checked, the only one in danger of dyin was you."
Graves spat savagely. "It's just a shoulder wound. Nothin more."
"Well the way you were moanin and groanin…"
"Shut up, you bastard. You put your hands on me and I'll—"
"Kill me. I got you. Just stand still for a second."
He unscrewed the cap and poured the crimson liquid onto the wound, watching as the blood flow dwindled and skin slowly mended its way across the hole. Graves hissed but otherwise made no moves to interfere; instead, he stared Twisted Fate dead in the eye, a look of pure hatred lining his face.
"Aw shucks," Twisted Fate said, grinning. "Don't give me that look, partner. I did just save your life after all."
"All you did was get me into more trouble, partner," Graves spat, struggling to sit up. "I wouldn't have gotten shot had it not been for your slippery ass again."
"So it's my fault that someone shot you?" Fate asked, laughing. "I reckon the same bloke who got you was fixin after me too."
Graves glared. "Never know, maybe you had some sorta plan to kill me. I've been after you tail for a while now, maybe you've gotten tired of runnin. Then again, I reckon you ain't never get tired of runnin."
"Ah Graves, don't go and start with this—"
"Start with what, Fate?" Graves spat. "Over six years. Six years in hell and it's all because of you. 'Cause you ain't had my back, not back then, maybe even never. All you ever cared about was your own hide—"
Twisted Fate sighed heavily and sat down across his former friend, trying to find any remnants of the man he knew. But that was like trying to find a face in a broken mirror – years of hatred had shaped him into something else, someone else. He knew it was no hope trying to talk to him now, not when he was so set on this vendetta against him. Graves's skull was thicker than most, and his hardheadness could make even the most patient monks in Ionia lose it. When he believed something, it would take heaven and hell to show him right. But that didn't change the fact that now he had a potential enemy in his house, one that most definitely wanted him dead.
He decided to focus on the now rather than go back to the past. That would be later. "You wouldn't have gotten shot if you planned ahead a little," he said. "It was obvious that whoever shot was tryin to kill me, and it shoulda been obvious that he'd get you since you got in the way." Fate shrugged, tipping his hat down. "Always was your fatal flaw, even back then Malcolm. Always lettin things happen, never tryin to think ahead a little. I reckon some things never change."
"Oh yeah? And looked who got away without a scratch."
"Not precisely. I did get a tear in my coat."
"I ought to kill you now, while you still think you can get away. You can't run away from judgment, Fate, and you know it."
"Oh?" Twisted Fate asked, folding his arms. "And am I to believe that you'll be this judgment you're goin on about?"
Graves's glare deepened. "You always be thinkin you can run from everything Fate, and most of the time you do."
"That's because—"
"That's because you always got a knack for gettin away from trouble, Fate," Graves cut in. "Even though it'll be you who makes the trouble anyway. People ain't nothin but liabilities and pawns to you. I shoulda known all along that I was no different."
Twisted Fate's patience broke finally. He glowered at Graves, eyes narrow. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, the lines in his smooth face becoming more apparent. "Tell me Malcolm, what exactly is it that I can do? All these years, and your desire of what you want hasn't become apparent, not ever. What—" he sighed, pushing his hat up. "What do you want from me?"
"I want that pretty head of yours, and that stupid hat!"
"And when you finally get that, which I'm sure you will with how determined you are with this, what then?" Fate exploded. "Don't you think, I don't know, that this cat-and-mouse game is just gonna end up with both of us in a noose? When you finally kill me, what comes next? You gonna leave everythin be, maybe ditch that blowstick of yours? Settle down and find yourself a pretty wife? Or maybe you'll find a new partner, make a new name for yourself and let this whole thing happen again and again, till you die. You tell me, Malcolm, what are you plannin after this? Just what are you going to do?"
"Nothin you say will make a change, Fate." Graves hissed icily.
Twisted Fate opened his mouth, ready to give a biting retort, but abruptly closed it. His eyes swiveled to the main door of the hotel suite, his expression suddenly going from angry and frustrated to serious. Graves, seeming to hear the same thing, rooted his eyes to the same spot.
"Hey partner, how do you lock them doors of yours?" Graves asked out of nowhere.
Twisted Fate narrowed his eyes, baffled by the change of enviroment. But he answered the question anyway. "They're automatic. I press a button and they lock. I put a code in and they unlock." He gave a wry smile. "Why? You plannin to ambush me in my sleep?"
" 'Cause unless I'm crazy, I think that them doors of yours have just locked by themselves. That normal—?"
"No," Fate said quickly, standing. He strode to the door and tried the knob. Indeed, it was locked. "That's not normal at all—"
A loud whizzing sound came from nowhere, followed by the shock of breaking glass. Both men jumped as Twisted Fate looked towards his large sliding doors, watched a small, black, puck-shaped object broke through the window, beeping in steady, high pitched squeaks. It rolled lazily, only to stop underneath the oak dining table near the kitchen where Fate had been just moments before. If he squinted, he could see the small red lights blinking on and off.
The cogs in Fate's head started spinning as he realized what was happening, but by then it was too late. He had barely managed to utter a cry of warning to Graves before the whole suite was engulfed in flames.