Chapter Four:

"And if I only could, make a deal with God…"

Eve stared at Train, shocked to her core. Here, the invincible Train Heartnet, former infamous Number XIII, had proclaimed he was dying. And by what she just saw, he wasn't lying.

Sven's jaw dropped. "What?" He yelled, rounding on Train. "What do you mean you're dying? You don't just show up after two years and tell us you're dying."

Train looked away, guilt evident on his face. "Yeah… you know that time I landed in a coma from the mountain gas? Turns out it does more than that." Sven shook his head in disbelief.

"Train… how long have you known about this?" Eve asked during a lull in Sven's emotional outburst.

"About six months, give or take."

"Six months?" Sven yelled once again, collapsing into a nearby unoccupied chair. He slumped in it, resting his head in his palms.

"I went back to the village it happened it. I didn't want to create an uproar if there was a cure. After that, well… it took a while to get here. I couldn't take many jobs as a Sweeper unless they were small-fry, which made it that much longer." Train's eyes saddened and became distant. "I wanted to have more time… but," a sad small smile crossed his face, "I guess I'll take what I can get."

"Do you…" Sven struggled to force the words out of his mouth, "Do you know how long you have left?"

Train lowered his head to stare at his clasped hands. "The doctors estimated six months."

"Well, that's good! That's plenty of time!" Sven proclaimed, jumping from his chair and causing it to tumble backward. "We can contact Rinslet and I'll pull some strings, maybe give a call to Tearju and see if we can get her some of your blood—she's not a doctor but she's crazy smart, and…"

"Sven," Train interrupted. The sorrowful tone made his partner halt his words and pay attention to him. "That was how long the doctors thought I would have… when I saw them six months ago."

Eve jerked as if she had been slapped and turned on her heel, rushing up the stairs and into her room. She slammed it shut.

Sven seemed to fold in on himself as the reality of the situation sunk in on him. His friend and partner could die any day now, from something he thought was buried in the past. His shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt older than his actual age.

"I wish it didn't have to be like this." Train quietly said, "But I knew if I didn't tell you guys, somehow you'd figure out a way to bring me back just to kill me yourself."

Sven chuckled at that. "Damn right I would."

"And, I wanted to say my goodbyes. And be here, where I feel like home I suppose you could say." Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Saya smile at this statement.

Sven walked over to a nearby wooden cabinet and crouched down. "This calls for something stronger than coffee." He unlocked the cabinet, reaching in a pulling out two bottles of liquor—one whiskey and one scotch. He set them down on the table then turned to the refrigerator and pulled out two large half gallon bottles of milk. He turned to his companion with a loose grin. "Are you still as much of a cat as I remember?"

Train's eyes danced. "Haha! Now you're talking, Sveny-baby!" To which his friend rolled his eyes, both at the familiar antics and the nickname.

Sven poured himself a hearty glass of whiskey, wanting to feel the burn down his throat to drive away his thoughts.

Train popped the cap on one of the milk bottles, glancing towards the stairs, "Do you think Princess will be okay?"

Sven lowered his eyes. "Dunno. It was a shock for her to see you, and then you just come out and tell us that you're dying?" He slowly shook his head at the memory.

"If I had more time I would have eased into it better, but I want every moment I have with you guys to count."

Sven felt tears gather in his eyes. "Don't be saying your goodbyes to me yet, partner." Train just grinned and took a long draw of milk. "I'm gonna give Rins a call. She'll be upset if she doesn't know… and she'll be wanting to see you." Train nodded his head at that.

Silence fell between the two as they drank their poisons, each pondering and dreading what the future would bring.

To Be Continued

"Hush, it's okay, dry your eye…"