No one believed their eyes the first time it happened.

It had been intentional, they thought. It must have. It needed to be. Aphrodite didn't miss shots. He didn´t. Never. No matter what. That was a fact. That was a physic´s law. That was science. That was part of the structure of the universe. No matter where they were or what was going on around, he just did not. It was one of the few certainties those miserables had to hold on. Shaka never got caught, Saga had a plan for everything, Aiola didn't know fear and Aphrodite didn't miss shots. That´s what God had written in golden letters when each of them was born, in the same way, that he had written that Earth was to be round and the sun was to rise from the East every day. And most of the crew would have had an easier time accepting that Earth was diamond shaped with a tartan pattern on it, than accepting that their partner had missed a target by accident. Because Earth, from space, they had never seen, while the northern had displayed a 100% accuracy under the wors circumstances, in front of all of them, since anybody knew him. Still, impossible as it was, it was happening. It was happening over and over again, and getting worse each passing day, until the most patient member of the group was starting to lose his nerve.

It started less than a week after DeathMask´s death, and had just gotten increasingly worse as time went by. Aphrodite couldn't focus, he couldn't shoot straight, and, worse of it all, he couldn´t care about it. He was perfectly aware of it all. Of the missing, of the wandering mind, and of the not caring even if he tried to care. Nobody was more shocked and more outraged by his own inability to do his work than himself. He was the only one completely non forgiving about each miss, but whatever was happening in his head, it was far beyond his control, and even he had to acknowledge it in the end.

Milo observed in impotence how his friend slipped down a dark void no amount of sex, help or determination could save him from. His hands were steady, his eyes were sharp, but his mind was not there. It didn't matter how hard he tried to drag it down to Earth, it was as useless as trying to catch wind with a net.

Eventually, he retired voluntarily from missions, he knew he just wasn't reliable. That was a wise and responsible decision to make, as well as the next nail in a coffin that was being closed really fast.

His nocturnal confidences with Milo had also come to an end. He had missed one of their unofficial dates for the first time just the night before he missed the first rifle shot, and he hadn´t met his lover under the stars since then. Milo hadn´t been able even to drag him into a four minutes chat since that day, let alone get him to stargaze with him again. What willpower and fear had been unable to separate, was now separated by the absolute lack of any will. Aphrodite just avoided Milo. He avoided all other soldiers as a rule. He avoided conversations. He avoided any sort of mental activity, not by choice but by instinct. He knew in his gut that getting his brain to work would be a form of suicide.

Soon he coudn´t even bring himself to sustain atention long enough to remember a full sentence adressed to him. He coudn´t do almost any job that required sequencing, no matter how simple. He couldn't rest either. Whenever he closed his eyes, the scenario of DeathMask´s death repeated itself, over, and over, and over again, until he felt he was about to go insane. It wasn't a dream. He could have taken a dream, no matter how bloody or how terrible. He could have taken flashbacks and nightmares, he had done it before, but this was different. It was a lucid dream, a scenario he thought was real, and in which he had perfect control of his own actions. The events didn't march in front of his eyes like in a movie, he was literally transported back in time to the same situation one more time. He thought it was real every time, he forgot it had happened before, and had to make the same choice he had made then, all over again. Every night, lucid and in control, he forced his soul through the same path of thorns until it bended, it broke, and allowed him to pull the goddamned trigger and blow his best friend's skull into a million pieces.

That was the man who had let him cry on his shoulder years ago, while remorse was tearing him apart fiber by fiber. That was the man that used to trade him pickles for tomato slices when they got burgers in the base. That was the man that had fucking stopped a rescue mission, after being brutally tortured for a year, because he wasn't going anywhere if Aphrodite was left behind. He had come back to get him. He had gone back to get him. There are just no words anyone that hadn´t gone through one of those camps could understand. Aphrodite hadn´t even been there for more than seven weeks, he ahd been a year, and still, he had gone back. He would shiver just remembering that. The sound of the steps through the dark corridor, a pace he knew. The relief and the panic, and the thankfulness and the dread again, and his friend recaptured while he was still chained to the bars and coudn´t do anything but watch. He remembered not being able even to stand but managing to break out of the cell not many days after, and taking Mask with him. And the steps. The steps had been in his head all along, that´s what had allowed him to stand and move. Those steps, in his head, gave him strenght. That same ponderous pace that was in his head now. He didn´t remember being wanted in any family for more than six months, and then, that man had gone back. For him. There. "You started it" he had said when Aphrodite had asked him why through the bars.

Mask had also spent most of his life rolling through foster homes, Aphro noticed they were alike when they met, maybe that´s what he meant. He had always been a man, never a child. He was the man who laughed in the face of death. He laughed loud, laughed hysterically among corpses and then dragged Aphrodite´s shirt and begged him with eyes wide and vitreous to save him from going insane. And aphrodite would pat his shoulder and press his teeth and try to crack some stupid joke to make Mask laugh, because he didn't know what else to do.

DeathMask also loved birds. For all his cruelty and pride he melted at the sight of a bunch of feathers and two little wings. Nobody there knew that. For them, he was just a huge loudmouth and a complete psychopath. They had never seen him rising orphaned robin chicks with a tenderness he'd never show towards any human, except, maybe, towards Aphrodite, once or twice. He did in the desert when the wounds and the fever had Aphrodite delirious and on the verge of death. Mask then had cared for him as he would for one of his little birds. Even the techniques had been the same, keeping him warm, checking on him often...because he just did´t know any better. The sniper almost smiled remembering it. That man just adored birds. That's why he had become a pilot in the first place. Aphro remembered when he confessed him he wanted to fly, with eyes full of dreams. The flight hadn't brought him what he expected, that was for sure.

They had broken out soon after being recaptured, and this time it was his time to carry his friend out, but he had been in far too long. Aphrodite remembered the first "attack" of violence. Mask killed two of the kids of the base. Aphrodite had to run from the other fucking building to the pilot´s showers before they shot him down like an animal, and wrestle him on the floor until he stopped moving, because no one in that crowd of cowards that were his partners had the balls to do so. He was too scary and far too strong, and he wasn´t a kind guy so nobody gave a fuck deep down.

As he aimed carefully to the side of the head, he could feel Mask´s rough skin of his hand. That was the man whose´s hand he had held through endless hospital nights, because, even if he couldn't save his friend from hell inside his head, he sure as fuck was not leaving him alone while he tried to escape. He remembered himself crumbled on an uncomfortable chair or lying by Mask´s side on the bed if he was getting too nervous, and whispering to him whatever shit in bad italian he could manage to say. It helped him, hearing italian, it helped him so much it was heartbreaking. In those endless nights he spent tied to a bed, and in more drugs, one could name with one breath, Mask would hum the same old sicilian song over and over again. Aphrodite had done his best to forget it but could hear it now. He could smell hospital detergent piercing through his nose, and hear the nurses chatter about how the man on that bed was like a demon. Funny, because that demon wouldn't even struggle with the restrains as far as he could feel Aphrodite nearby. They had eventually figured that out and allowed him to stay with him at all times. He had eventually gotten resistant to sedation, but it just took the sniper´s hand on his shoulder for him to relax and let the doctors do whatever they had to, even if he was too delirious even to understand where he was. That is what trust means. That is all you get after going through hell with someone else, and sometimes you realize it is worth it. Mask´s trust was really hard to earn and easy to lose, but Aphrodite had received it and managed never to lose it. That was the only thing he was proud of in his whole fucking life.

He had earned that privilege the first time they slept together. Mask had come looking for him in the barracks after something had gone terribly wrong in his first flight missions. The sniper never knew what it had been, he just remembered finding himself, barely sixteen, under a flood of bitter tears and wet kisses he didn´t want, with the broken soul of his friend on his hands, the rest of the barrack pretending not to look, and totally no clue about what he was supposed to do. His lips curved in a bitter muxture of smile and silent wine, even in his dream. Back then, he had told the italian things were going to be okay. They had not. Things had only gotten worse.

As he got ready to pull the trigger, his eyes would go foggy. His hand would feel weak, and he would hear heavy breathing from the bed and feel the shaking under his hands, and the wet tan cheeks and the humming going over and over and over again until he felt like either leaving the room or asphyxiating the patient with a pillow. He heard the shots and feared the mines and felt the burning sun of the desert and the freezing nights, and felt almost safe in them because someone he trusted had his back. He had been his guardian angel through the first war, the voice of God through the radio that kept telling him everything was going to be alright. The italian would laught at the mines too, at everything; that took a particular type of courage Aphrodite hadn´t seen in anyone else, and that he respected and admired. Mask had the most stupid sense of humor and had the tackiest musical taste on Earth. The artists he liked would make any grandmother proud. Only he had been allowed to discover that. Soon, nobody would ever know what DeathMask used to be, how he used to crack up at fart jokes. How he used to look for Aphrodite in the airport whenever he came back from a difficult mission because he had nobody else to wait for him. Nobody else would know how his eyes lightened up when he found the Swede among the people waiting, and how epically he failed at hiding it. Nobody else would know the hopeful tone his voice got whenever he called the blonde little brother.

That man had been his brother, his first lover, he had kissed his neck the last time they talked. He had kissed him with all the tenderness in the world and then had accused him of signing his death sentence. And now, he was about to fulfill that accusation and scatter his brains all over the jungle. He was about to blow everything that made him human and nobody knew about into nutritious soup for animals. Little bits would fly straight to the grass. Convenient lunch rations for leopards and insects. Stupid insects, feeding in bits of encyclopedic knowledge about how to take care of finches.

In those lucid dreams, every bloody night, Aphrodite would go over what they meant for eachother. He would struggle with himself again, and then, BANG! The fictitious explosion of crimson would wake him up. Only then would he remember it had all already happened, and this one had just been an illusion.

The scenery might have been fictional, but the struggle of each night was too real. After each dream he sweared that on the next nightmare, he wouldn't shoot. He wasn´t going through the same again. He just couldn't. He would be dizzy and breathless in the middle of memories he coudn´t share with anyone and know he coudn´t take this one more time.

In the next nightmare, though, he would forget that promise, and forget it was a nightmare. He would gather whatever mental energy he had left, and he would shoot again, because he didn't know it was an illusion, because it was his duty to do so, as a soldier and as a friend, and as a brother he liked to think whne he was feeling far too alone to play tought anymore. Then, the red fireworks would color the grass, and he would wake up, too exhausted to feel guilt or rage. He would look at the black sky, and promised himself not to shoot in the next nightmare, and then the next nightmare would came, and he would forget again.

Sometimes, he would try to exhaust himself beyond dreaming before going to sleep and seek Milo´s help for it. Sometimes, he would just try to skip sleep altogether. But none of those worked. Sooner or later, he had to close his eyes, and if he refused to do so at night, it would happen during the day. No matter how long he could stay awake, dreams would catch up with him eventually. Maybe he shouldn't call it dreaming. Maybe, when it happens to you awake, and after four sleepless days straight you should call it hallucinating. But, dream or hallucination, the subject was always the same, the same people, the same sound, the same dead end.

When he pulled the trigger in dreams, he never missed Deathmask´s head. But, in real life, he had became just useless.

Milo had to take on Aphrodite´s responsibilities almost entirely. He wasn't alone, the northern would still train him and stand by him while he worked. The pale hand on his shoulder calmed Milo´s nerves and cleared his mind. The advices were always right what he needed. Aphrodite couldn't do things himself, but he still knew what needed to be done, when he could force himself to keep track of the situation for enough time, which was more and more uncommon.

Eventually, and far earlier than what he desired, Milo was completely on his own. Aphrodite could try to be with him physically, but will often disconnect from whatever was going on, or react just too slowly. He wasn´t there. He coudn´t, first, and later he didn´t want either.

Outside of those shared moments, Milo only saw his lover when he came to his bed, looking for warmth and a way to forget. He wouldn't stay afterwards, and if he did, he wouldn't talk. Often he went to Shura instead, or Shura went to him. They connected at a different level. They both had known Mask for longer than anyone else. Milo didn't care. He wasn't jealous, which came as a surprise to him. He understood what was happening. It wasn't about sex, it never was, with Deadmask it wasn't either. If only he had known earlier...if he hadn´t been an idiot, a child...Maybe the italian and him could have been friends.

Was it sex with him? Was it friendship like with them? He didn't know, and,during those brief instants in which Aphrodite would close his eyes under him, and look in peace, he didn´t care .

Outside those moments of fake happiness even optimistic Milo had to admit they were all fucked. Their situation was more desperate each time. That was the discussion of that night around the fire. They were, effectively, four soldiers down. They were hiding like rats, and the cat would eventually catch on with them. Needless to say that Saga´s initial scheme had gone to hell a long time ago.

Shaka had disappeared, which was not unusual, and his job, but that was enough to get people nervous in the pressent situation. Aphrodite talked that night, for the first time in weeks, and said that he wanted to go front line and cover DeathMask´s position. Since he couldn't do his usual job, and since Milo was doing it very well, the idea made perfect sense. It was a reasonable thought every reasonable man had to agree with, and Milo had opposed it heads on. He wasn´t letting someone with no atention span and a deadwish jump in front of the bullets, and anybody with a different opinion better be ready for a fight.

Aphrodite didn't argue much. He couldn't. He couldn't care about anything for long enough to sustain an argument, and the rest of the group could smell danger around Milo and decided to keep their opinion for themselves, so the conversation died there. Saga would do the planning that was needed, once his communications were reestablished. Until then, things would continue as they were now. They would just do basic survival and scouting, and Aphrodite would wait behind. Almost nobody agreed with that, but almost nobody wanted to risk getting Milo mad. The kid had been a year among them now; he was one more, which meant he had become as much of an insane clockwork bomb as everyone else and had to be operated with caution.


They were leaving to recognize terrain and look for opportunities, water, miracles, or hopefully swords ingrained in stone. As he, Shura and Aiolia were walking away, Milo saw Aphrodite searching through Deathmask´s things. He didn't say anything. He just felt his heart drop to the ground. Any hope of his friend recovering his sanity was gone. Not even his ego felt hurt for his inability to help; it was not about him anymore. Very altruistic thoughts to entertain, but they still didn't change a thing.

They left and came back days after. Aphrodite had an inky needle in his hand and was quite entertained tattooing something on his leg. For the size of the picture and the amount of repugnant detail on it, Aphro had been working on it since they left. In was a gory and revolting scene. A skull blown to pieces, with bits of flesh and blood and bone covering most of Aphro´s tight. Milo recognized the face that was half hung from the skull. Mask was looking back at him with both eyes, even if one of the eyes was still clinging from the skull, while the other had been propelled to the canvas´s knee.

-Mask used to dream of his- Aphro explained when he felt Milo´s breath on his shoulder, without interrupting his task. He didn´t look back but just knew who he was - He started doing them himself, but eventually asked us to help. I did most of the back and the right hand... He would get the picture down or describe it, and we would draw it on him the best we could. I think everybody but you did something. Even Aiolia, you know? They didn't get along that bad before everything went to shit. They were quite close...for Mask´s standards, but I don't think Aiolia was aware of that.

Aphrodite stopped, for no reason, anybody could tell, eyes lost on his reddened skin and the memories beyond it. Milo kneeled by him and inspected the macabre design that was now polluting the perfect beauty of his lover. Aphrodite´s leg was shaking a little, involuntarily, proof that it had been worked on for far too long. Milo held it gently with both hands, to help to keep it steady, and tried to find his lover´s eyes, with no luck.

- He had nightmares, ¿you know? After we...well, after he helped me out with something. He….it just came back. And. Then he started doing this. He said he wouldn't dream of it if he had seen it in real life. He said it was like if he owned the monsters now, that it helped him control it...It worked for him. It worked with...all that happened to us. So...I thought it might be worth a try.
-Will you tell me what all that happened to you were at some point...?- Milo asked softly. He expected Aphrodite to pretend that he didn't hear him, and that is exactly what the man did.

The sniper lifted his blue eyes for the first time, looking for his lover with a slightly, very very slightly, insecure spark in them. Nobody would have believed he could feel such a thing as fear of rejection. But, again, nobody could believe he could miss shots either, and he had.

-Does it bother you?

-Hm...No. Not really.

The greek was quite surprised about his own answer. That dantesque image had every ingredient that could possibly bother him, and still, it did not. It didn´t even feel like a defect, it just made too much sense to be a problem, even an aesthetic problem. He just understood it. Somehow, Aphrodite made much more sense with that scene drawn on than without it.

-You draw beautifully. Even this.

-Thanks.

-I always thought Mask's tattoos had some skill... unsettling as they were.

-He wanted them to be that way.

He leaned forth and kissed Aphro´s inner thigh, very softly, at the edge of the ink. The sniper gasped in surprise, and blushed, feeling shy as a kid. That was a stupid reaction, he tried to reproach himself, considering they had already kissed and bite each other in far weirder places. But it wasn't the leg the greek was kissing this time. They both knew. And kissing eachother´s demons so directly was completelly new.

Milo finished the kiss slowly, and looked at the picture again, tracing the external lines with his fingers, without actually touching the skin, while Aphrodite tried to slow his breath down and prayed for the rubour to disapear. His self control was not in it's highest point at the time, and another act of kindness like that would bring him to a total breakdown.

-Robins?- Milo asked, with surprise, as he noticed how blown brains turned into beautiful silhouettes of finches and robins, still unfinished. A caress on the line got a shiver of pain as a reaction- For how long had you known DeadMask?

-I...(sigh)..don't think I can tell you.

-True, I forgot...but...you don't sound as assertive as usual about that.

The youngest of the two still didn't look up, and his lover eventually realized he was not actually interested in the picture, but was giving him time to calm down. That didn't help Aphrodite feel any less vulnerable in front of that man that, suddenly, was proving to know far more about him he never intended anyone to know, but, surprisingly, it did help him feel much safer.

Maybe this time...He sighed loudly.

-It bugs me. To know that, once I die, nobody will know shit about him. He could have been killer robot from the future for all the rest knows..it would make no difference for what he had left behind...He was not just that. He wasn´t, and it bugs me to know that it doesn't matter.

- I know what you mean- He knew the feeling well, even though, for months, he had been unable to put it on words. He looked for Aphrodite's eyes, like if he needed a confirmation about and unasked question -Hey...If you have some minutes...for some light conversation...You can tell me how you learned to draw. Or what type of things you used to draw...back then.

-I don't think I can do that either.

- I still need to understand how a reasonable man like you, who likes roses, can see anything beautiful in german cars.

Milo crafted a playful smile, out of effort and good will, and got a genuine smile in return. Sad, but honest.

-Sounds like a plan.- a bit of a sharper smile- You are fucking persistent.

-Maybe you are fucking worth it.


-You got it!

-And you sound so surprised! I'm offended now!- Aphro charged his weapon again and shot almost without looking. The can, barelly a touch of silver in the distance, shaked and fell down the rocky shelf.

Milo didn´t know if the correct thing at the moment was to punch Aphrodite´s arm, hugh him, or kiss him, so he did it all in an euphoric chaos that Mu didn´t feel like interrupting until it was over.

-So...I assume you are back in the game, Aphrodite?

-Fuck, yeah, little lamb. You can bet for that.

It wasn't a one-day recovery, but it was pretty close to it. Less than a week after the picture was completed Aphrodite got his perfect aim back, and a bit of his sarcasm too. Milo observed the miracle with a smile on his face. He was not the praying type, but he still thanked DeathMask in silence for having left that silver bullet behind. Ironic. He hated the italian when he was alive, but now he felt like he owned that man everything. He would drink a glass of wiskey in his honor if he just could get his hands on one. He even wished for a second chance to get to know what was behind all those smirks and agression.


-I think Shaka is the problem. Why should we trust that guy more than Saga?- Shura shook his head, uncomfortable with the idea of a change in leadership.

-Because we have no choice! If Shaka were using espionage on us, we would be dead already! So let's forget about that, it is not him! He has easier ways to get rid of us, like just fucking starve us, if he wanted to. You know that!

The argument between Aiolia and Shura was escalating far too quickly when Milo and Aphrodite arrived. The rest of the crew were staring at eachother. Quiet as if they had seen a ghost.

-What is going on?-Mu answered, still frozen by the radio.

-It was Shaka. Saga has lost it. Completely.

Milo´s eyes lightened up in a flash of optimism that nobody else ´s good mood vanished on the spot.

-So, it was him screwing us up all the time?No spy?

-We can't know that- Mu insisted- We just know he has gone insane now. It might explain it all, or it might be in addition to it all…- Aphrodite shaked his head, about to overload. Shura and him shared a desperate glance.

-Nobody else knows enough about the enemy bases, or can manage the group as he did, or can plan half as well. This is the fucking end.- The northern exposed. Anyone who knew a word or two about war and strategy would agree with him. Shura cursed in Spanish through his teeth, covering his face with one hand. Aiolia was staring intently at Aphrodite, trying very hard to deny that he agreed with that prediction. Mu, however, looked at the radio and entertained a thought for a long time, before he dared to speak.

-Actually...we may have one option left. -Mu sighted, and looked at the rest of the crew, especially at the starkest elements in it- You are not going to like it, though.

The "you" was directed to two elements of the group. Shura crossed his arms, defensive. Aphrodite rose a delicate brow.


-No Way- Aphrodite sentenced, without even raising his voice. Shura conveyed the same message, with a little bit of added color.
-Couldn´t you have told us that this guy existed before? Damnit Mu!-Aiolia was beyond furious, but nobody cared.

-That doesn´t matter now- Dhoko crossed his arms and said no with his head, repeatedly-I fought by him and you know I appreciate him more than anyone Mu, but we can't trust someone who has been a prisoner of war so recently. We just can not! We agreed it was a rule long ago.

-You weren't so fucked up long ago -Milo observed, all impatience. There was a new door open adn he wanted to charge right through it as soon as possible- We better hope he hasn't gone insane and take the chance

-"Hope" is not my favorite criteria for decision making, kid

-Well, cry me a river, grandpa, because it is all we have left now.

-You both had worked with him already! He was the leader before Saga-Mu was more convinced of that new plan by the minute, and tried to get some support from Aphrodite and Shura. A really bad place to look for it. Aphrodite shook his head.

-How did he escape anyway? That is too strange- Aphrodite asked. Shura nodded and added.

-You can't trust a former prisoner. You don´t know what is in his head anymore

Mu made a soft sound of frustration and looked at them.

-I understand your concern, but we have no choice. You said it yourselves; without Saga, we are over, there is nothing to lose anymore - It was a simple argument and more than enough. The older soldiers conceded defeat with a variety of gestures, and Dhoko pushed the radio towards the medic again, way more upset than would seem reasonable to expect

-Call everybody then, kid. We will need to gather and discuss a lot about this.

A couple of days later, with Saga in restrains and all survivors together, Shion became the new leader of the group, with three votes against and everybody else in favour. Aiolia and Shura went out together to bring him to the core of the forest, while the rest dealt with their fear and frustration the best they could. Whatever plan Shion had, or was capable of coming up with, better be a good one.


Milo observed the new arrival with curiosity. Aphrodite had told him that he was the main commander of the group before he was captured, more than two years ago; that he was a competent fighter and a great strategist, and that he didn't trust him at all. Extracting more information had been impossible. Aphrodite would get cranky whenever Milo tried to deepen in the issue. He seemed to smell storm clouds coming his way, and, for once in his life, he had something he really didn't want the storm to destroy. But it was not in his power to prevent the disaster, if it was going to came.

When Shion gathered them all he was very clear about what was going to happen from then on. They would have to play double face if they wanted to have any chance at victory. Aiolia didn't liked it, Aldebaran didn't like it, the honorable idiots didn't like it, Aphrodite rolled his eyes about to strangle someone, and Milo lowered his head, trying to reconcile opposing voices in his mind.

-Shaka has managed to create the rumour of some of our men being forced to stay here. You have a reputation, the enemy to hop in happiness at the thought of getting you on their side. We will have to use that and infiltrate some kids in their base, we are no longer in a position of getting inside and kill their new commander any other way.

The details of the plan went on. Even the most skeptic among the crew had to admit it could work. Some of them were not going to make it out alive, but they were all brave and they were all willing to take the risk, even if the details of who and why we're not quite clear

-Shura, Aphrodite...Saga. Can I talk to the three of you in private?- The voice of their new leader approached them, almost as a whisper, when everybody else had dispersed to attend their tasks after the final reunion. The three men looked at each other, knowing immediately what they all had in common. They nodded, and followed the new commander to listen to the bits of the scheme he had conveniently kept a secret from everyone else.


The holder tightened, the barrel in the chin crest aaaand done! Milo stopped the timer and looked at the number on it with satisfaction. How did he ever find mounting this thing hard at all?

Happy with his result, he dismantled the weapon again, ready to beat his own record. As he was doing so, two thin arms wrapped themselves around him, and Aphrodite´s chin rested on his shoulder light like a bird.

-Good mark- Aphro whispered, lovingly

-Thank you-He purred and turned, in full cuddle mode all of the sudden- I had a great teacher. What was your best time, again?

Aphrodite laughed at the tease and loosened his hugh to let Milo turn and kiss him.

-You are not stopping until you beat it. Right?

-You would feel disappointed if I did. I want you to feel proud of me.

-Hm. What if I told you, you have already beaten my best time?

-Then, you would be lying, and we both would know it- The sniper laughed softly until another kiss sealed his mouth. Aphrodite retired his arms from his lover´s shoulders and took some time of apparent contemplation.

-I love you, Milo- He informed, matter of factly, and then, just stood up to leave. He made sure to interrupt before Milo could recover from the shock and say something. He wanted to hear nothing more of it- Please, do not bring it up again. That is a threat. I don't want an answer, or to hear about it. I just wanted you to know.

The northern disappeared among trees before his friend could react. The element of surprise had been on his side.


It all made sense now. The gaps in the plan of the insane old man, the way in which he had gathered with the eldest ones, the knew he had fought with already, the ones he knew had the discipline to endure what he was asking of them. It made sense now, but he couldn't pull the trigger, not for all his life. The eyes of the battalion whose´s trust he had to earn were all on him and his obviously shaky hand. Aphrodite was on his knees, looking down. Even the boldest men don't enjoy looking at the canon of a gun if they know what comes next.

He hadn't signed up for this. He understood why they hadn´t tell him the whole story until it was too late, he would have never accepted it. But now, there was no turning back, it was either one of them, or them both, and with them both came everybody else. And that last option was the one that he was choosing, because even if his brain told him he was a coward, he just couldn't do it. Saga´s curse was coming back at him with all it's might. He remembered it now, word by word, he was almost traveling to the past, standing in front of the group for the first time, escited as a child and full of stupid ideas about how courage looked like. It was certainly not pale and delicate, nor was it meant to shot from a distance and have beautifull blue eyes. He was such an idiot, and Saga had cursed him for life. Word by word, they all had come true.

He had indeed been observing Aphrodite since they met. He had learned to recognize the rhythm of his steps, he had memorized the most subtle of his expressions and could read through them. He knew his voice when he was happy, his voice when he was sad, his voice when he was panting and about to cum. He knew he liked roses and cars, that he thought that things are beautifull if they are usefull, and he couldn't cook. If he closed his eyes he could see the smallest details of his face. He was terrified of saying "I love you", but had said it anyway.

He was learning, now, as Saga said, the courage it takes to know someone completely and then killing them in cold blood, and he knew he didn't have enough. He also knew he was dooming the whole group to failure, that it was dooming himself and his friend to a death far slower and far more sadistic than anything he could ever imagine, that he was´t saving anyone, but still, he couldn't do it. His hand was frozen.

Time went by, and the enemy squadron got nervous. Aphrodite rose his eyes from the floor, blue and perfect, with the fury of a demon burning in them. He looked at Milo straight in the eye and spit some firm words, in a german-sounding language nobody there could understand, not even Milo himself. But that didn´t matter, because it was not about the words, it was about the voice. The sharp voice his hand knew, that it had obeyed before. His body reacted alone and pulled the trigger. There were cheers and hugs from people around as Aphrodite fell to the floor, in an explosion of crismond, like a gigantic red rose.

He did not know what language those words were in, he had never heard them, but he knew what they said. "Fucking shoot". They had come from an old radio far in the desert all the way through time and pain to be delivered there, and something told Milo they would never leave him alone.

He didn't crack down then. He smiled and left the body of his lover, his friend, his love, behind, for profanation or worse, and went along with the plan. He did what he had to do, not caring about who else had fallen. His hand was steady, his eyes were sharp, his aim was simply perfect, as if the hand of a ghost was helping his own, keeping the rifle from shaking while his soul crumbled down.

They were two days of carnage and non sleeping and fear and fight, and when it all was over and he was screaming to the night like a madman he knew, with dead enemies all around, that Aphrodite would have been proud.