~*~Anything~*~

"Okay, that's it!" snapped Murtagh, glaring at Emilee, taking three deep breaths to steady himself and counting to three four different times in his head. She was going to be the death of him, and he just knew it. "I am so sick of you fidgeting with that stupid pendant or your stupid clothes! Why are you so jittery anyway?"

He shook his head in agitation to get his hair out of his eyes. He was so sick of her fidgeting with everything she got her hands on. She was now no longer allowed to cook, because she had been so shaky that she had spilled boiling hot soup all over him this morning... and those blisters were painful.

"What's your problem?" Emilee shot back, bloodshot eyes popping open from a quick nap. She glared at Murtagh with such venom and hatred she scared herself.

He brushed that aside, sighing heavily again. "What's your problem?" he sidestepped her question. "You've been... for lack of a better, or more appropriate word... evil all week. I was-" he cut himself off and cringed at the expression that crossed her face.

If it were possible, she went even paler than she had been all week; the dark circles under her blood red eyes were more pronounced than ever before, and her breathing had become more rapid as her already swollen eyes filled with tears.

Murtagh could take all that, had actually come to expect waking up in the middle of the night to heart wrenching screams that echoed everywhere, and had come to expect getting next to no sleep as he tried to figure out what was wrong with her. All that he could take, but he couldn't take the look of dread that crossed her eyes. The look of pain that settled on her features was almost too much to take, like her very soul had caught fire, and she was burning from the inside out.

"I didn't... I..." she stuttered, flushing slightly. "I really... Murtagh, I'm so sorry. I-"

"Slow down," he mumbled, holding up a hand, feeling a twinge of fear jolt through him as he realized she had taken his words, a first for her, seriously. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then... how did you mean it?" she asked in a small voice, looking down at the ground, tears trickling out her eyes and down her sunburned cheeks. "Because I really am- wait, where are we?"

Murtagh pulled Tornac to the side of the road and jumped off. "To get you some new clothes, so you can quit fidgeting with your old ones." he sighed inwardly, and wondered if he was ever going to get so close to a sincere apology again. "Let's go," he helped her off her new horse, and for the second their eyes connected, he could see just how grateful she was to be with him, how sorry she had been to mistreat him, and how much she appreciated him being there.

For that one second, she was herself again, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the depth to her.

"Thanks," she said, looking down.

"Don't mention it," he replied, then, "We'll need to get some supplies as well."

Emilee nodded absently, mind obviously elsewhere. "You can do that, and I'll get-"

"Are you joking?" Murtagh asked as if she had surprised him. "I'm not leaving you alone for more than two seconds."

She giggled that annoying giggle of hers, that somehow all females managed to possess at one point or another. "Admit it, the only reason you want to come is so I can model for you." she said, skipping ahead of him.

"You wish," he mumbled, and then stopped abruptly so as not to run into her suddenly still form. "Emilee?" he asked hesitantly, seeing her tense up. "What's-"

Before he could finish his question, she let out a pain filled shriek, and fell to the ground in convulsions, barely able to get any air in.

Heart starting to race, Murtagh went to go pick Emilee up, when a flying firey dart stopped him in his tracks.

The dart had buried itself in his left shoulder blade, giving an angry hiss as it boiled the skin around the wound.

Stumbling forward, eyes watering in pain, and reactions starting to slow, Murtagh let out an angry curse word, and, for the moment while his head was still on straight, pulled out his bow and arrow and shot with prescion skill and accuracy.

"Murty..." a small voice mumbled as Murtagh's eyelids began to droop closed. He could feel the fire in his veins, could feel the poison drift slowly through his weakening bloodstream, could feel every sharp beat of his heart, as though there was a sword slicing into it every time it pumped. Every breath felt like a razor blade was slicing into his lungs, into his heart.

And yet... he didn't focus on any of that. He focused on the small voice ahead of him and stumbled to it. His feet felt like lead, and when he finally got to the semi-sleeping body of his companion, he fell flat on his face.

He heard the small voice again, though he could see nothing but dark, and it seemed like the voice was a million miles away.

"Thank you," she said, and he realized that he was flipped over, head in her lap, and tears that were not his own streamed down his cheeks.

Fighting with all the strength he had left, Murtagh forced his eyes open, and smiled up at her, weakly putting his hand to her cheek. "For you," he gasped out between gasps of pain. "anything."

And all went dark.

~*~*~

Emilee's POV

~*~*

*He doesn't mean that, you know,* sneered the voice in her head, and she could vividly see his snide face, could feel his warm breath on her neck as he mumbled in her ear as she panicked over Murtagh. *He's just really drugged. That dart and all. Tsk, I can't believe you let him take that for you.* he sneered at her even more, a cruel, evil, yet very handsome smirk twisting around those sick, twisted lips of his. Don't you... love my son?

Emilee's hands shook as she fussed over Murtagh, trying with her all to ignore the presence in her head, because he had become more... solid than before, and she was having a particularly hard time with him. Nevertheless, she could not deal with his taunting right now, not when Murtagh's life was hanging in the balance, and he needed her so much.

As it was, he was grimacing in pain every time he would take a breath, and his breath was getting even more uneven and fainter by the minute.

You know, he wouldn't be in-

"Shut up!" Emilee yelled, her voice echoing off of the, thankfully, empty street. "Leave me alone, you sick, twisted, evil excuse for a man!"

Do that more often, people will start to think you're insane, he chuckled in her ear again, breath sending a cold shiver down her spine.

Emilee used what was left of her force of will and payed no more heed to the evil, stupid, manipulative scum in her head, and, with shaking hands, flipped Murtagh over, onto his stomach to examine the wound on his back.

She gasped at what she saw. The wound had spread and was now the size of two or three of her fists.

Without thinking about what she was doing, she tore his cloak and shirt off. Taking a deep breath, she put her mouth to the wound and gently, hoping with all else that she had in her that this would work, started to suck the poison out of his wound.

The instant that her lips touched his skin, her muscles tensed up and she was back in the living nightmare, a place she remembered quite well.

This time was different, though. It was more of a......memory, than anything else. A very dim one at that.

There was a man; he was tall, and would have been extraordinarily handsome, but for the stumble in his walk, the wild look in his gray eyes, and the liquor on his breath.

There was a woman, whose face she couldn't quite see, but could tell that it was quite bruised, and that the woman was quite battered, and even broken in some spots.

She was pleading with the man, who was more likely than not, her husband, but what she was pleading, Emilee knew not, for this memory had no sound.

Whatever it may be, though, the man didn't like it and started yelling, his words slurred and his movements uneven from the whisky. He grabbed his wife tightly around the arms, so tight that they would turn into raging bruises over the next few days, and started shaking her. After he had gotten bored of shaking her, he smacked her across the face and let her slide, sobbing, onto the cold, hard floor, to writhe in pain in the dirt.

The man was about to continue the abuse of his wife when he stopped dead in his tracks, and a look of complete anger and hatred crossed his face. He turned and made his way into the other room, drunkenly swaggering into some vases of fresh flowers, and shelves with breakables on them, on his way there.

The man paused at the doorway, and Emilee watched in horror as he made his way to a toddler, who was holding his hand which had been cut deeply on a shard of glass from a broken whisky bottle. The toddler screamed even more at the sight of his father, and turned his back to him, trying to search for his mommy.

The man yelled something and unsteadily unsheathed his sword, shouted something in the face of the woman, spat on her and the little child, and the the sword fly, fileting the child's back open, and sending blood flying everywhere.

Emilee tried to take a deep breath, but then got a throat full of blood, and pulled her mouth away from Murtagh's back, choking and trying to get the stuff out of her lungs so she could breathe.

What did I tell you? the voice drawled. You shouldn't have let him take this dart for you. He's been through so much for you and you're just letting him die.

"No," Emilee cried, eyes filling with tears as she put her mouth back to the wound and started sucking at the poison with more ferocity than before. "Murty," she moaned in despair as she noticed that his breathing had stopped. "Don't you dare leave me."

A fat lot of good telling him that's going to do; he's already dead. A vicious grin spread across the overly handsome face at the thought.

She leaned close and could hear a small thud, thud, though it was quite faint. Trying to hold her terror in, she flipped him over so he was facing upwards.

"It's not going to work," said a voice in Emilee's ear, and she felt her blood chill as she got a glimpse of a solid Morzan, and her heart started pumping wildly in her chest.

"It will!" she cried, pushing the force of the control that he had over her mind back with every fiber of her soul, and then bent down and, blushing slightly, she put her lips to Murtagh's parted ones, and started blowing air into him, while plugging his nose.

Alright, have it your way, said the voice, smirking. But if it doesn't, what are you going to do? Where are you going to-

LEAVE ME ALONE! Emilee cried in her mind, with such anguish and sorrow, instantly shutting the voice off and tuning it out.

Returning to her work, she pumped his chest, and blew air into his lungs, but to no avail. This went on for about ten minutes when Emilee was so exhausted, out of breath, and terrified. She didn't want to think of what was going to happen to her if.... if Murtagh was...

Laying her head on his chest, tears spilling out of her eyes as she slowly began to sob. "Murty," she sobbed, trying to gain control of her emotions. "Thank you,"

She laid there for what seemed like forever when she pushed herself off of him, looking into his pale and lifeless face. Sweeping his dark hair out of his face, she sighed, and looked away, eyes filling with tears again.

Emilee just about screamed and jumped out of her skin when she felt him jerk awake, grabbing the hand that was resting on his chest. She helped him onto his side as he began coughing up a bunch of green goop that didn't look too appealing. "Murtagh?" she gasped, heart still racing.

He laid there coughing for a minute or two, and then another minute or two panting, trying to get his breath back. "Who else would I be?" he snapped out, breathless. He cringed; breathing had become manual labor which he was not prepared for.

"Let's get you somewhere you can lay down," Emilee said, standing up, turning her back to him and wiping her eyes. Then she turned to him and helped him up. "There's an inn nearby that we can rest in." she slung his arm over her shoulders. "Now, if you'll make me a list of what we need, I will go and get the supplies while you rest."

Murtagh shook his head weakly. "No, I'm fine," his voice was as weak as he felt.

Emilee wasn't fooled either. "You need to rest; you've been through a lot," she mumbled, looking away, and Murtagh had the faint idea that maybe she wasn't referring to what had happened today. When she looked back at him, her eyes were brimming with tears yet again. "Thank you,"

He shook his head. "You know, you're a lot more trouble than you're worth sometimes," he sighed.

~*~
Hope that that was okay.... I suck at action scenes... Anyway, here's an update!! Hope ya'll enjoyed it!