"Who are you? Who was that back there? What do you want from me? Where'd you come from? What the HELL is happening? Hey, answer me!"

He stands, indifferent to my words. His eyes seem to tear across the land in front of us, prying every detail from every object and engraving it in his mind; it's with an almost foxlike serenity that he reaches down silently to hoist me off my feet.

Yeah he's cute, but he's not cute enough to just do what he wants with me.

I slap him across his right cheek, but I think it hurt me more than it hurt him. His eyes flicker down to me for once, and he frowns as I shove both hands against his broad (and fine, might I add) chest. "And that was for…?"

"You don't just… pick up someone!" I whine, shoving him as hard as I can; the unexpected force against his chest dislodges me from his grasp, and I tumble stupidly to the ground. My left hand still throbs from hitting his face, and I recoil, crawling backwards and over the pebbly beach.

Wait, what am I doing? This guy's a… a, a monster! He killed someone back there! The man sees the shock on my face and softens immediately, an unforetold compassion suddenly loosening his many muscles. I keep crawling away though, and I try to stand up and run, but I fall back down on my chin. He tries to advance again – arm stretched out, red sleeve, crimson like blood –

"DON'T you DARE touch me!" I scream, head suddenly light and fuzzy. He steps closer, and I scramble further and further back, my legs, hands, and ass getting scrapped by sea salt, shell fragments, and sharpened stones pounded away by the wrath of the ocean. The faint kindness in his eyes falls apart, and he glares at me, fists abruptly planted on his hips. "Now you're just being ridiculous. Get up and get over here."

"No! Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?"

"Who am I? I'm the guy who just saved your sorry life." He cocks his head to the side a little, a finely groomed eyebrow arched at me. I stop scrambling, but I stay dumbfoundly on the ground, heart racing uncontrollably. God, I can feel the sweat dripping down but I can't hear anything – not the crash of the waves, not the whistle of the wind – nothing but my blood pounding away, threatening to rupture my eardrums.

So the festering madness and the silence between us grows steadily; I can only imagine what I must look like right now. Probably like hell, especially compared to a guy like hi-

STOP IT. He just took me against my will, it doesn't matter how hot he is!

He sighs and drops to sit on his heels. He wisps his hands out to catch the red drapes before he settles down, and flings it out behind him – in a way, the little notion makes him seem remarkably regal.

I frown and try to regulate my breathing. "Are you going to answer my questions?"

"Maybe." His eyes are closed and his head is dipped a little low, but as he reaches to scratch his head, I can see a faint smile prying at his serious face. "Or maybe you should focus on answering mine."

"What question? Look, what do you want from me." I'm trying to play it off strong, and my question comes out more like an accusation than anything else, but my words don't change his body language. A few seconds meander past before he answers only loud enough so that it's barely audible beyond my screaming blood.

"Nothing."

"Where are you from."

"What makes you think I'm not from around here?" He accuses, finally looking at me. I frown and kick my chin up a little. "No one in their right mind would wear something like… that here. You look like you're on your way to a comedy event or a renaissance fair."

He laughs and falls back on his butt, kicks out a leg, and lolls an arm over a knee: by the way he responded, its like we're sitting in his living room discussing the latest Ben Stiller movie.

"Nah, I'm not headed in either of those directions. Any other royal questions?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I answered that one already."

"ALRIGHT," I throw up a hand in exasperation, "WHAT was that back there?!"

"That's the question of the day." He stares me down, and I finally notice his eyes are radiant, yet dull, and they emit a hazel-grey hue. We stare at each other, and I slap my hand against the ground. "So you wont answer me?"

"How do I answer a question, when I do not have the answer?"

"This is useless." I mumble, avoiding his eyes. I turn to watch the water in the bleakhorizon, and he copies me. We sit as I steady myself. He sighs again, but I wont look at him; instead, I ask a final question.

"Why do you want to kill me?"

"Why would you ask that to the guy who just ran here to save your life? Besides, if I wanted to kill you, do you really think we'd be sitting here, having this conversation right now?"

I shake my head and glare at him. "Murderers and serial killers are madmen. I don't know what to expect from one." Again, he cooks his head a little. His voice is elegant and smooth – exactly what you'd expect from a hot crazy. "You think I'm a killer?"

"I saw what you did to that guy back there."

"What I did was discharge her mana. I didn't kill him."

"Why. And what do you mean her?"

"Because I'm not a killer." He stands up and offers me a hand. He looks up to the sky, and I watch the brilliance of his eyes twinkle in the starlight. "That was an Assassin-class Heroic Spirit, either sent to kill your or triggered by another in a similar manner to what happened to your brother."

How the hell can the stars reflect off this guys eyes?

"Come. We've wasted enough time. We need to get moving."

"Wait… how, how do you know… how do you know what happened to Takao?"

"What happened to him is what happened to you. He opened a two-way chamber-cast spell to the one who corrupted the Holy Grail. In doing so, he was killed. Now, lets go." I can't see his face past his open palm.

"I don't need your help!" I spit violently. I stand up on my own, and he looks down at me like I'm nothing more than a stray cat that's wandered into his path. How dare he! He acts like Takao was nothing more than a casualty! We stare briefly, the fire in me suddenly nothing compared to the sternness in him, and I slap his hand away before walking on my own.

I make it about twenty steps before he yells at me: I can tell I'm trying his patients - his voice cracks. "Do you know what happened back there?" He accuses, a boiling rage in his voice. I flip the bird and keep marching.

"LOOK. AT. ME."

I wont.

"Get back here!"

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A dark wisp collects in front of me, and he appears out of thin air – again, his hands are on his hips, but now he glares furiously. "Look, idiot - if I wanted to do this, I'd do it by force. But right now there are bigger things that you need to worry about then your pride."

"Says the renaissance fair man."

"Yes, says me!" His head whips to the side before he narrows both eyes back on me. "Listen, I get that you don't understand what is happening, but that's not important. What is is that you cooperate and that we keep moving. Its fastest if I just carry you."

"I can walk, thank you very much."

"What part about moving fast do you not get?"

"But what did that… thing want from me?"

"Nothing, other than killing you." For the last time, he opens a hand to me. "If I have to do something I don't want to save your measly life, then I simply wont do it. But if you are willing to cooperate, then we can make sure you see sunrise."

For the first time tonight, I can sense a genuine honesty in his words. I reach out tentatively, accepting his hand, but my fingers linger just inches away for one last question.

"Who are you?"
He smiles: it's the most dashing thing I've seen in months. Whether or not he's a good person is yet to be determined, but he's not a bad human being… not yet, not as far as I can tell.

He reaches between us, grasping my hand in his.

"Call me Archer."

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This was the original one-shot. It was tweaked ever-so slightly to better fit the plot that was shaped around it.