Okay, I was wrong. This is not the last chapter of the fic, it is the second to last. I swear, I tried, but I found such a good place to end it! I briefly introduce the leader of the Company, in my game I called him Ricard (FFII, after the awesome dragoon, why did they have to kill him ONE DUNGEON after you meet him??), so that's what he's called here.

Thanks to Wyl, the single most helpful reviewer I've had for any of my stories. Thank you for pointing out my horrific error, for the past five chapters, I've been misspelling Buchse's name . . . But now, that is fixed!

I don't own Suikoden Tierkreis, I'm just borrowing the characters for a while. Of course, when I' m done with them the company might not want them back . . . Then can I keep them??? I also make no money from this fanfic, if you've paid for it, I'd hunt down the person who charged you and- well, you think of a punishment.

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Exiting the Great Hall as quickly as she could without attracting attention, the Ritterschild markswoman made her way up the stairs on the top floor of Castle Dawnfire coming out on the roof. Just as she had hoped, the broad expanse of stone was deserted. Lurching towards the west end, where Ouragan normally skulked about, she folded her knees and settled herself down (quite a feat in that blasted dress), leaning her back against a low wall. A perfect position; from here she would be invisible to anyone coming up the stairs or standing on the main part of the roof.

Letting her head fall back, she didn't even wince as it hit the stone with a thump.

"What was I thinking," she groaned.

&*&*&*&*&

Turning slowly, Buchse walked off the dance floor and over to the most shadowed corner he could find. He needed to think. To compose his thoughts. To formulate a plan. To figure out what the hell to do. But the only thoughts his mind could muster up consisted of Minen. And they weren't coherent, useful thoughts either. Just a compilation of feelings. Images. Longing . . .

Damn, what he really needed was to clean his gun.

The ancient automatic was due for a total breakdown and going over . . . Gods, now even thinking of his guns brought about those feelings he had experienced tonight!

From behind, he could hear the clicks of boot heels coming steadily closer. I'm in the shadows, facing into a corner, everything about me is telling you to go away. But the sound just got louder as the person continued to approach. Finally, the clicking stopped, about six feet away by the silent marksman's estimation.

"Ah, Buchse," a dreadfully familiar voice said uncertainly, "can I speak with you?"

&*&*&*&*&

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she hissed at herself. This was Buchse she was dealing with, Buchse! The silent sharpshooter was her friend, nothing more. And tonight? Tonight was simply supposed to be a favor for a friend. An act. A deception.

Then why the hell did it feel like something so much more? Out on the dance floor, for once in her life, she had actually enjoyed playing the stereotypical woman's role; being held and protected by a man. Because that man was Buchse. Whenever the corners of his eyes wrinkled in his silent version of a laugh it had made her smile. And when he had actually let out one of his rare, soft chuckles an excited thrill had raced down her spine. But when she had somehow convinced herself it was a good idea to kiss him . . .

That was when she knew she had gone too far. When she realized that at that moment in time, the thing she wanted most in the world was for her friend and former partner to kiss her back.

What was wrong with her?! This wasn't her, she was Minen, the untouchable, frigid, former employee of the Belfar Agency. She put bullets through men's foreheads without a second thought and had been ready and willing to shoot, lie, cheat, and steal to get her country's Chronicle back from the Magedom. Relationships, significant others, love; she had long ago accepted that those things just weren't meant for her.

And now there was this. This . . . attraction . . . she felt towards the tall silent marksman who had been her partner for six grueling years. Who had remained her friend even after the disbanding of the Agency. Who was now probably so embarrassed that he wouldn't be able to speak to anyone for a good month. Whose image flitted through her mind even as she berated herself for thinking about him.

Gods be damned, what the hell is wrong with me tonight?

&*&*&*&*&*&

". . ." Never in his life did Buchse find himself wanting a person to just go away than he did now.

". . ."

". . ." Still no boot clicks heading away.

". . ."

". . ." If he didn't turn around and leave in the next twenty seconds, Buchse wouldn't need a gun to splatter the fool's brains across the wall.

". . ."

". . ." Fifteen, fourteen . . .

". . ."

". . ." Six, five, four . . .

". . . you do know I was only teasing?"

What was this now? Slowly, making sure to keep his hands balled into fists and stuffed into the pockets of his suit, Buchse turned around to face the demon that had made the last few months of his life utter hell.

Tsaubern stood staring at the floor between them, dragging one foot back and forth across the tiles. All his normal cockiness was gone, replaced by something that Buchse couldn't quite figure out.

"All the poking, tickling, flirting, jokes. I was just trying to get a reaction out of you."

Buchse couldn't believe it, ". . . excuse me?"

"Well, you're such a stick in the mud," Tsaubern explained his arrogant nature returning in an instant, "I find it extremely amusing to get any kind of emotion out of you! And let's face it; flirting is pretty much the only thing that will! Not that I'm not attracted to you, you are damn good looking and you have a good heart. But it's painfully obvious that you have zero interest in men! Much to my disappointment, of course."

Damn good looking with a good heart . . . that's how Minen described me . . . That single thought was the only thing that kept him from leaping across the six foot space that separated him from the noble and smashing the man's head open on the nearest available hard surface.

"What . . . prompted . . . this . . ." Buchse managed to hiss between clenched teeth.

Sensing the marksman's underlying fury, Tsaubern took a step back. "Well, ah, don't shoot the messenger but . . . Anya may have heard what Minen said to you when she was dragging you onto the dance floor and may have told Moanna who may have put two and two together and may have come up with their own conclusion as to what you were doing and the two of them may have told the entire current population of Castle Dawnfire. To make a long story short . . . I found out about your plan."

Three bullets. That's all he needed. Three. Bullets. Two to take care of the insidious castle gossips and one to finish the pale haired noble who was getting further and further down death row with every word that came out of his mouth.

"If it makes you feel any better, the general consensus is that the idea was very sweet. It has what girls like to call, the awww factor. There were some dissenters; Zahra and Roberto didn't see the point in going through an elaborate scheme when you could have told me point blank and Geschutz thought you should have just shot me. But everyone else thought it was cute."

". . ."

"Um, Buchse?"

". . ."

"I know you must be pissed, but FOR ONCE can you say SOMETHING instead of just glaring at me like you want to rip my throat out with your teeth."

". . . shoot you . . ." Buchse muttered.

"What?"

"Shoot you," Buchse spoke a little louder, tilting his head so that he was staring into Tsaubern's pale blue eyes, "I don't want to rip your throat out . . ."

With long, slow strides, Buchse started to circle around the pale haired noble so that their positions were reversed. Now Tsaubern was the one closest to the corner while Buchse was between him and the rest of the room.

"Now, now Buchse, it was just a little joke," Tsaubern said nervously, "no harm done, right?"

Every man had a breaking point. A point where enough was enough, a point where they just can't take something any longer. Buchse had reached that point. After months of repressing his anger and resentment, he had finally reached that point. But this wasn't a simple break or snap.

It was an explosion.

With two final strides Buchse brought himself closer to Tsaubern than he had ever voluntarily been before. Taking a double handful of the noble's shirt, Buchse lifted him off his feet and slammed his back against the stone wall.

"I want to pump your corpse so full of lead that it becomes a hazard to nature," Buchse roared, "I want my bullets to punch so many holes in you that I could hang your body from a tree, look up and see the constellations through your abdomen!"

Disregarding the total silence behind him which almost certainly meant that every eye in the place was resting on him, Buchse brought his face so close to the pale haired noble's that he could feel the exhaled air from the terrified man's panting breaths rushing over the bridge of his nose.

"But most of all," he snarled, "I want to put a couple of explosive rounds through those blind as a rock eyes of yours and watch as whatever you have that passes for a brain blows out your skull and decorates the nearest wall!"

With a growl, Buchse unclenched his fists and released his hold on the pale haired noble allowing the quivering mess to drop to the floor. "You're damn lucky I have a friend who cares about my well being. Otherwise you would have been dead long before this."

Out of the corner of his eye Buchse could see several of the assembled party approaching him cautiously. The Wolf Company protected its own, and despite his irritating ways, Tsaubern was indeed a part of the pack. Jale, his mother Selena, and, of course, Ricard wove quickly through the crowd towards the two Ritterschild men. Ricard had borrowed someone's walking stick and was gripping it loosely about the center of the shaft, ready to use it in place of a fighter's staff at a moment's notice. The other two had no need of such precautions, as marital artists it was impossible to separate them from their weapons of choice: their fists.

"Buchse, just calm down now," Ricard said evenly, "no need to get violent, right?"

The tall marksman ignored the Company commander, instead turning his full attention back to the pale haired noble at his feet who was still trying to catch his breath. "What you really are," he growled, dropping his voice low enough so only himself and Tsaubern could hear, "is damn lucky that this whole affair made me realize how much I care about afore stated friend."

To Tsaubern, and indeed, the entire assembled Company's shock, the silent marksman bent down and helped the noble to his feet. Looking his now thoroughly confused mortal enemy in the eyes Buchse stated simply, "For that all I can say is . . . thank you."

Silence reigned. Not a person spoke, nor a garment rustled. The calls of night creatures were mysteriously missing. Not even a gust of wind rustled the leaves outside the windows. Complete, utter silence. Only broken by the steady thump, thump of the tall sharpshooter's boot soles as he crossed the floor to exit the hall.

&*&*&*&

Not quite what I planned, but I think it worked! First I tried to write a scene where Tsuabern is very apologetic and ends up convincing Buchse to go after Minen. But I had trouble keeping the two in character while doing it. And actually writing the thing. This seemed slightly more logical, if a bit out of character for Buchse. I figure he has to blow up some time, and after the events of the night something like this would be the last straw. And since it is so out of character for him, the other Starbearers don't even know what to do!

Next chapter WILL be the last. Of that I'm sure. There is no chance that will change. I swear it. Really, I do. Reviews are welcome!