Author's Notes

Fucking romantics. Dammit, Shadow, I swear you're nothing but a little girl on the inside. You're like a fairy princess. "And Vio is my prince and we'll live happily ever after in a big castle!" Just, ew. You're a goddamn murderer, Shadow. Be a little less focused on Valentine's Day and more so on Halloween. ((Speaking of which, have a safe Halloween this month guys (if you celebrate it, that is): stay safe, go with a buddy if you're trick-or-treating, don't get crazy wasted if you party, and always let the littler kids get their candy first. (-: ))

This chapter didn't believe in hosting multiple page breaks and refused to be cut (I'm stubborn, the writing is stubborn, homework is stubborn, time is stubborn, the characters are – well, you know the drill) so I hope ya'll like half-assed transitions and an otherwise boring/cheesy filler chapter.

P.S. I'm trying to make a habit of updating on the first week of every month (any more than that is really pushing it). So we'll see how that goes.

Trail of Blood – Chapter 13

It's a truth that in love and war
World's collide
And hearts get broken
I want to live like I know I'm dying,
Take up my cross
Not be afraid…

War of Change – Thousand Foot Krutch

Shadow's Point of View

"What the hell do you mean we're gonna be fuckin' working together?!"

He leans back, smoke sighing from the cigarette resting between his fingers. "Should I bother explaining it again or do you just want to yell about it for a while?"

Fucking hell I- "Just shut up!"

Irritation boils into the air, bursts through the kettle with a screeching whistle, fills the air with its frustrated steam. Caged and released, bobbing and sinking, the anger builds and flows, seeking its way to my core. All angry and bottled up inside. All pissed off and nowhere to go. What the hell was this? Vio leaving his retirement, the very thing I had suggested once I was bleeding the town by myself? The retirement that had kept Vio here where he was safe, behind locked and bolted doors when I was gone? The "retirement" that had meant Vio would never be caught or risk himself that way again, the retirement that meant Vio was protected. And now Vio was here, eyes staring off as I fume faster and brighter and hotter than the cigarette he kept sucking in, the words still hanging in the air with the breezy haze of smoke.

"What the fuck do you mean," I gasp, "that you're going to work with me again?"

He dishes out a sigh, eyes slowly straying back to me, sadness and pity chewed up and spat haphazardly into his gaze. Makes me ready to scream, real ready, the noise bursting just under my chin as it is. Enough to make me wanna rest my head and pray that the next time I blink open my eyes I'll be lucky enough for this all to be just one big nightmare.

But when's the last time I got lucky?

There have to be other options. Have to be. I need there to be a different choice more than I need the blood in my veins, need Vio's safety more than I need him himself – willing to take anything over the thundering echo of the idea that he, he, would stand there, and watch, and wait, and let the blood fall before him. Be a God, Vio, and I shall be your priest, and I shall let the sacrifices fall amongst the wake of your passing, let the wicked and the innocent be your sheep alike, and I the shepherd…

No. No. There has to be something else, anything else, anything at all.

What happened to the excitement? To wanting Vio beside me, tackling the world together, back to back and leaving only destruction and a trail of blood in our wake? What happened to dreaming of hands clutching the same knife, the twin wads of rupees in our pockets, the same wailing of blood on the ground echoing in our ears?

Now there are only clammy murmurs of danger, and the lingering scent of fear, and the echo in my head of how very, very badly I've fucked up.

"There have to be other options," I scream in desperation, and the words fall like the last flakes of snow in the night, breaking the air with a whisper.

"It was the only plausible choice," he sighs, grinding the little narcotic into the table and snagging a new one from the packet. "There are other options, but no good ones."

"You're sticking your fucking neck out there again and you call this good?!"

He forces me to wait, a pause staggering through the room like a bad comedy act as he places a cigarette between his pursed lips, fumbling with the lighter until he gets the tiniest flame to spring to life, dancing before his face. He drops the lighter and lets it clatter on the table as smoke flows from his mouth. "That's not what I said. But compared to turning ourselves in or quitting? I do consider this a bargain." Another heavy breath, thick with the scent of simply burnt lingering in the air. "They've waited a long time for a chance like this, Shadow, so they weren't going to pass it up. I made them a lot of money before. They know I can make them more if I choose."

"Fucking hell, Vio!" I shoot my fingers through my hair, tangling in the tendrils as though to alleviate the frustration storming through the skies. "So what, you're willing to endure it again? The paranoia? The sleepless nights? The nightmares?" Trying to scare him out of it would make sense if it was truly his choice. But it isn't, and I'm trying anyway. Then again, I never claimed to be the smart one. "Maybe you forgot what it was like, but I remember the way you used to break down shakin' every time the cops drove by! The way ya'd come knock on my door at three in the morning so you'd have someone to take your mind off your thoughts and your bad dreams! The way ya wouldn't be able to look at someone when they died, the cold sweat that ya always had to wash off afterwards!"

He lets the words fall like leaves swept in the wind, voiceless, with not so much as a shrug. Every attempt to fix only destroys. He's patronizing me with his time, gracing me with his presence, enduring me with his very existence. And that just makes it worse.

"You aren't even taking this seriously!"

As quick as a kick of thunder the mood changes, the whole room torn away to be swept from the dim light of angry desperation into a black sea of outrage. Under the hood of an unimaginably forceful glare he seethes, glowering. "I am very serious about this, and you're an idiot to consider that I might be blowing this off. I know full well what I am getting into, and I have not forgotten what it is I'm agreeing to. You, on the other hand, seem to have forgotten who it is that taught you what you know. I'm not frightened by your childish behavior, Shadow, and you'd do well to stop pretending as though I might be. I'm coming back as an active member whether or not I have your acceptance. If you're going to fret then we're both going to find other partners or, even better, I'll work solo."

"No! If you're – fuck!" My skin is frozen in its place as though I'd run through a rainstorm of cement, unable to move, petrified and timid and frustrated all in one. It makes the words flooding against the shell of my mouth come out shattered and fragmented. "If you're so intent on screwing your life over again then you're doing it where I can watch and protect you."

"Glad that's settled," he muses, eyes still glaring.

There's a staleness in the air, his eyes still scolding me as he pushes the cigarette to his lips, hollows his cheeks as he sucks in air, blowing out smoky contempt. "I'd do anything to keep you safe," I squeak.

"Then let me do this. With or without your consent, Shadow, this is the safest option there is."

Despite the done-deal way he speaks I don't believe the words, slowly melting in my place like a sad snowman, buttons and raisin eyes dripping to the ground under the searing glare of the awakened sun. I need him safe, it's the one thought that seems to carry me, as though I could possibly survive the awful path I was treading if I knew he was safe.

With a sigh his eyes soften, wearing into gentle understanding as he waggles a finger at me, beckoning me closer. I wander thoughtlessly, a puppy being called by his strict master, coming to stand at the back of the sofa while he sits on it with legs outstretched. He pauses, arm wavering in the air as though curiously wondering what to do with it before letting it fall softly, a feather in the breeze, clutching at my hand. "We'll be safe."

I look down at him, unsure, a puppet searching for strings, a whore begging for a touch, a whimper crying for-

"I mean it, Shadow. We'll get through this. We've made it this far, haven't we?"

The line seems like something from a bad movie, the last sentiment the beloved character utters before being swept away with the night, never to be seen again. I'm ever the optimist. "Do you want to come back?"

He blinks, slowly, drawing out the act in thought. "No." His gaze falls, drifting about like a speck of dust in the afternoon light. "But I don't mind it, either."

Another pause, sweet and succulent as he forces his gaze up to me, soft lips parted. There's a cigarette in his other hand, little flakes of ash drifting from the embers, the whole room beginning to fill with the hazy scent of burned tobacco. The hand holding mine squeezes, comforting, reasoning, winning the fight without so much as a word. This is how the sly man kills: not with a bang, but with a gentle gaze.

His eyes whisper sweetly for me to trust him.

Damned and dumb as I am, I do.

I shake him off, scowling despite the calm that begins to spread from pore to pore, blanketing me. Damn him. Him and his serenity, his tranquility, his endless calm…

I walk around to fall back on the sofa, forcing him to pull his legs in. I fumble the fresh cigarette he hands me. Not that I really smoke anymore, but he'd offered me one as he crushed the old into the table, and I need the calm more than I need lungs. He curls up, watching me, the heat of his eyes on my neck intense as I manage to successfully embarrass myself with trying to use the lighter.

I see him smile from the tip of my eyes, leaning forward to easily pry the lighter from my fingers and with a – lucky, mind you – roll of his fingers he sets the tip of the cigarette aflame.

I hold it between my lips, feeling thirteen again, falling into the sensation of holding that first blunt and praying that as I stripped my lungs of their virginity I wouldn't fold on myself. But when have my prayers ever be answered?

I inhale, and immediately cough, searching for a cure to comfort the dryness blasting against the back of my throat.

I hold the cigarette away from me as though holding a dead rodent by its tail, smoke blossoming from its end like dancing tendrils. The scent of the burning tobacco is calming, musky, breaks apart the sensation of being trapped in my own thoughts and sends the bars of the cage snapping in all directions. It's relaxing. But breathing in such smoke… something I could handle with a fervent desire when I was young and blind, but abandoned when Vio guided me to the discovery that killing is the better high.

I prefer the knife.

Vio takes it from my fingers and shortly enough the scent washes over me, reminding me of casinos and sagging houses and a lot of people that had probably ended up behind bars by now.

My head falls and swings up to look at Vio, eased by the loose smile plastered on his lips. He hands me the cigarette again, slender fingers carelessly combing through the fog of smoke, a thin hand ruffling through my hair as he stands and walks off to the kitchen. "You don't want to go out tonight, do you?"

"Not really." I rest the cigarette between my teeth, breathing shallowly through my nose as I push myself up, waltzing after the blonde. He's standing at the kitchen counter, his back to me, holding his cell phone in both hands. So close. So easy to touch. So far. So sheltered from my grasp. I slide my hands into the pockets of his slacks, pulling him flush against me, embracing the gentle warmth that seeps from body to body at the contact. He reaches up, not turning to look as he plucks the cigarette from between my teeth, not stopping to reprimand my behavior as his other hand scrawls over his phone. "You want take out?"

"We have nothing to cook," he sighs, pinching the cigarette in his other hand.

"You mean I have nothing to cook. You're not allowed to burn my food, remember?" I clench at his hips, breaking into a smile when he fidgets. "What do you want?"

He peers over his shoulder at me, breathing in the cigarette and blowing the smoke in my face. It fogs my vision, sucked into my lungs and aimed high at the ceiling as it bellows forth like fire from a dragon's belly. There's the slightest crackling sound as Vio crushes the roll into the kitchen counter. "For you to let go of me?"

Like that's gonna happen. "Pizza sounds good, actually. Is that okay with you?"

"That's fine." Vio holds the phone up around his shoulder, dangling it before my eyes and silently demanding I take it, the dark screen catching light and shooting it across the kitchen. He abandons the crushed cigarette on the counter as it fizzles out and rasps its last clouds of smoke, twisting his body out of my grasp and cleanly moving back towards the sofa.

There's a clicking noise breaking through the air, and when I turn to look he's holding another freshly lit cigarette between his fingers. Surely there was irony in Vio so freely breathing in narcotics? And being wasteful about it, at that. Not that I cared, in the end, not when they were so talented at making Vio a little looser, a little warmer, a little more willing to touch.

I slide his phone back onto the counter when I'm done ordering food, slowly waddling back towards the sofa as he strokes his fingers down the smooth spines of a selection of DVD cases. He pulls away at the sound of my body falling back onto the sofa with the slightest jerk of his shoulder, subtly startled despite his expression not having changed whatsoever. I grasp the TV remote, tossing an arm over the back of the sofa, glancing around lazily.

My heart drops, soars – beating wildly in my throat, beat beat, beat beat – as Vio nestles down beside me, warmth pressed to fire, staring vacantly into the screen.

Hours later we're curled together, staring at the screen as colors flash and the greasy pizza box lays open on the table, one violated slice of nibbled pizza lying alone. His shoulders are cocooned in my one-arm embrace, sides pressed together, bodies warm and dormant, almost enough to burn away the memories of all the pain I have felt at his hands, almost enough to blow away the lingering fear.

His head tips, slowly, sinking like a ship at sea onto my shoulder. He's asleep in my arms, his closed eyes revealing the desperate grayness crawling underneath them, exhaustion biting at his features. But despite that his breathing is slow and calming, cooing to the nothingness like a mother to its child – his presence leaves the air feeling thick, and thin, as though a leap could lead to flight, as though a fall would strike the earth like a meteor – his face smoothed the nerves, drenched me in the rain of thinking of how nice those petal lips must feel, how sweet and gentle. If the calm didn't soothe it riled, torn between losing bones to become jelly at his nearness and snarling that I wasn't good for him, finding anger in denying myself. Fuck.

I just want 'im.

Not only in a sexual way, though it'd be no small lie if I said I didn't want to fuck him every time he passed me his narrow gaze. And fuck him hard, at that. But I want him in ways that shouldn't be possible, want to feel the graze of his skin all around me, the rolling thunder of his voice in my ears, the pain of his sharp retorts. I want him to use me however he wants, even if it kills me.

He could say jump and I would leap, thinking of all the ways he might reward me as I tunneled over the edge of a cliff, never the wiser, and I wouldn't even care.

Slowly I pull him closer, shifting so that he leans on me completely. The movie plays on, trying to reclaim my focus as I rested my head on a propped up hand, eyes flickering between the screen and the backs of my eyelids. Gods, this just feels so good.

I don't notice the story line much, if there is one, just enjoying the colors, the scenery, imagining all the things I could to Vio in the same setting of that dark forest, how beautiful the blonde would look below the high moon, under the dim glow of the stars, pressed down in a field of greenery, the way nature might would bring out the violet speckles in his eyes, the beautiful curl in his lashes.

Eventually the movie ends, slobbering kisses exchanged between the heroine and her partner, but I find no interest in flicking over to a different movie, much less in moving to grab the remote and bothering my sleeping beau. Whatever that means…

I watch him as he sleeps, knowing damn well that if Vio could see the way I was looking at him the detective would roll his eyes and pinch me hard, thanking me with harsh words and fiercely lit scowls. But in his sleep Vio is soft, gentle, sweet and forgiving, exposed and it makes me feel-

Hm.

There's no sensation of the floor falling away, or of my heart swelling warm in my chest beating so hard it would wake the sleeping detective. No fierce fire or dancing of angels chirping 'round my head that he was 'the one'. It's just this feeling of being where I should be, like it didn't matter what would come, wanting to bottle this sensation of utter contentedness and live in it forever.

That was kinda anticlimactic.

I press my lips to the honey-gold hair pushed against my shoulder and surely enough Vio begins to stir. Slowly at first, as though in timid protest, and then quickly, as though in bright realization. But he doesn't jerk away as he once would have, stiffening against me and then quickly relaxing, remaining in my arms.

"Good mornin', sunshine," I muse, voice swaggering with luster. "Sleep alright?"

With a delayed yawn he pushes himself up, back arcing towards his chest as he stretches. "Sorry for falling asleep on you," he mumbles, lips thick with the lull of a just-awoken slur.

I shrug. It's not like it could ever bother me. If you like I would carry you on my shoulders for the rest of your days and never dare to utter a word of complaint. "You ready for bed?"

Vio nods, heaving himself to his feet. "Absolutely." He walks past me and dances around the jutting arm of the sofa as though to head towards the bedrooms. Alright then. Leave me here, why don't you, to spend the night swimming in the memory of your scent and the echo of your voice. Leave me here and abound yourself in sheets and I'll go surround myself with my hands, sweat curling down between cracks of flesh and fabric, consumed in the fire of thinking about what we could d-

He pauses, lingering by the side of the sofa, a word frozen on his lips as he looks down at me, hand extended.

"You are coming, aren't you?"

I smile.

He leads me meandering down the dwarf of a hallway that stretches back into the bedrooms, hand slipping from mine, his feet coming to a halt before the door that hides the small second bedroom. I have to take a step back, peering at him quizzically. You're not really stopping here, are you? There's a small smile on his face, the one that only I ever saw, the one that means thank you and simmering amusement at the same time.

"Goodnight," he says softly. That smile still fills the space, brightens the night like the noon sun, lively in a storm, warmth in the winter.

"Night," I fumble, baited and hooked by the ease on his features, the warmth of his skin. He doesn't flinch as I dip my head close, thick breath thinning, hitching, waiting for the moment. Warm, and close, and barely breathing, trying to tell ourselves that we need to fill our lungs but not finding the strength in the stretched space between. Everything about him is surging as the ocean's tide, rolling onto my body and crashing against my chest, sweeping me into him, lips falling against the softest foam. Warm, barely moist, he kisses me softly, not daring to get closer.

Not for long, such incense made of cream and sugar burns far too quickly. Too preoccupied with the blonde's silken touch, a thousand overly romantic thoughts coursing in my veins, each more fitting to make those violet eyes roll in disdain.

I flick my tongue against his lower lip and suck it sweetly, hands teasing down his waist. I can hear the bubbling of a groan, can feel the trapped breath sinking and rising frantic in his chest, can taste it stammer against me. Vio's hands roam up my sides, lips falling and pressing again, bringing me closer.

I force a step forward and Vio crashes against the wall, hands foaming up over my shoulders and into my hair. There's a feverish breeze of heat and air mixing on the nape of my neck, hot and cold, shaking and burning.

Gods, but do I want him.

Then there's air in our bursting lungs, Vio's hands sinking from my hair, pushing me away and gulping in air as though I'd been caressing his throat rather than his torso. He slides a hand into his hair, letting out a breathless sigh, unable to hide the glint of pleasure pulling at his features.

"Still sleepy?"

He laughs, the noise musical, prying a grin onto my lips, and then my own chuckle ringing beneath his. "I meant it when I said 'Goodnight'."

"Yeah, and what a great night it's been so far."

Vio laughs again, shaking his head. He steps in to kiss me chastely and I am all too happy to oblige, resting my lips against his, pressed ever so softly before he steps back. He wraps his hand around the doorknob and steps into the doorway. "Goodnight, Shadow."

I mutter my thoughts from earlier. "You're really gonna leave me like this?"

A knowing glimpse in his eye sparks as he smiles, shutting the door gently until we're both left staring at a board of wood and reflecting on the echo of a screaming 'click'.

I tip my head down, glaring at the white door. Fuck. I was so close. So. Fucking. Close.

And with that I pivot on my heel, swing my weight, and pad to my bedroom with my head hung low.

But it's quite impossible to sleep with his figure burned into my mind, brighter than the sun. The ceiling dances with thoughts, mimicking the buzz behind my eyelids. The unfairness battles the echo of his voice. No sleep last night – too busy yelling, nor today – too busy wanting, nor now – too busy dreaming. No sleep when all I could think of was the warmth I so dearly wanted, the warmth resting his eyes just a wall away from me.

It's like I'm damned to always need more.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand, walking up to the small desk against the wall. The top drawer slides open and its contents glimmer invitingly, beckoning, the blades themselves calling for blood. The blade, the blade, it glints as it catches moonlight and runs silver light up the edge as I sway it about in the air. Damn. Sharp blades shouldn't shine, which means I've let it get dull and nicked.

My fingers curl, crooked, around the base of a honing rod and deliver it skillfully from the drawer as though practicing to be a wet nurse. I sigh, a decent weight dancing along the bright rod, but I have to doubt it'll be enough to repair the blade. Back into the drawer it disappears and this time I find a whetstone, thick and scarred, resting it on the desk and tugging out a bottle of oil.

Soon enough the knife is being carved a new edge, droning with a lead ring as I slide the knife against the stone. Twenty degrees, swing my wrist, twenty degrees, swing my wrist. The movement repeats, calming away the thought of sawing the blade into a widely split neck.

I'm almost done by the time I hear the patter of feet against wood flooring, wiping the knife on a coarse square of fabric. "Shadow."

Dressed in a loose shirt that hides all but the lower hem of his briefs, Vio stands in the doorway, a tired frown pressed on his face. Come to visit me and remind me of the desire I'm trying to forget? Or have I gone crazy, finally, and now you stand there only in my head? "…What are you still doing awake?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"But you didn't," I smile, setting the knife gently onto the desk. Best not to misplace that.

"I couldn't sleep." He sways wildly on his feet, movement disoriented as he steps forward.

It's a little premature of you to already have nightmares, darling. I kick myself for the thought, but there's no stopping it. Maybe instead he's awake for the same reason I am, too consumed with the thoughts of each other, but that'd be too nice to be true. Nice and truth are rarely the same, and certainly not between the detective and I.

A million thoughts race at the sight of him: desperate wailings that I don't want him to go, that I want him to stay here and never leave, thoughts of whisking him away from the chaotic life of killing and thieving and washing one's hands in a fountain of blood.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

"Of course!" I blurt out the answer with rigor, immediately narrowing my eyes at myself, fingers twitching to clasp my lips. Oh, shut the hell up, you pathetic worm. Embarrassment floods over me like waves in a storm, merciless, pulling me down harder with each pulsating struggle to be freed. "Pray tell what sleeping in my bed includes?"

"Sleeping." Vio tosses his gaze to the side, a smirk creeping on those soft lips. "Any more than that you have to earn for yourself. I'm not going to just offer myself to you like a sacrificial virgin. I'm too fond of watching you grovel."

He ambles towards the bed, tossing the sheets up as he slides a knee onto the mattress. In a practiced movement he swings his legs out from under him, looking rather content as he lies back, pulling the comforter back up to his stomach.

"Do you care to join me, or would you rather stand and admire me as I sleep?"

"Is there a third option? Something where I can watch you and join you at the same time?"

"Hardly. A third option could include you sleeping on the sofa, I suppose, but that would defeat the purpose of my coming in here."

"Purpose?" Too late, I'm already meandering towards the bed, crawling onto it and shuffling to get under the blankets beside him, not at all deterred when he turns on his side so that his back faces me. Closer, closer, forever craving more of this damnable warmth that freezes the skin and leaves one shattering like ice. Greed is a sin, but Vio isn't exactly the kind of person to be put off by a bit of ungodliness.

"The purpose was to be together," he sighs, not at all romancing the way he embraces the words. I scoot closer nonetheless, listening to the gentle whirl of his breath, pressing my stomach to his back. The thin fabric of the shirt, Vio's soft skin, all so warming and chilling and calming, so much to be gained by simply slinging an arm over his hips.

"Why do you wear a shirt to sleep in?"

"So that my nipples have something to chafe on. You don't think they're naturally so plum-colored, do you?"

"Oh, that explains it." Laughter bubbles up my throat, bursting from my lips and floating free into the breeze of our breathing.

He rolls, torso running up along my arm as he twists to face me, a chuckle dashing along his lips. A hand drifts up to brush my cheek, lips parting, eyes lost. Suddenly the amusement fades, replaced by a rasping of tightened breath, so thin it amounts to nothing. Were his eyes always so close? Always lidded so lowly, each flicker of his eyes parting between mine granting silent assurances that tonight he would stay? It's times like these, floating weightlessly in the water and gazing at the empty skies, that make the world spin so quickly it stops.

And just like that he kisses me, lips running up against mine softly, but pressing for more nonetheless, and oh.

It's taken thousands of tries, but I've finally gotten my first kiss.

Slow, soft, perfect in every sense. The gentle ease and romance of the gesture makes my toes curl and my heart flutter. The touch of Vio's hand is so smooth, and as our lips slowly peel the taste of the air is innocent.

My eyes flutter open to find a beach awaiting me, caressing my cheek gently with its stretch of violent sands and the rasping of crashing waves of serene blue, a gentle breeze of golden hair rolling through the air, leaving the brewed aroma of nothingness heavy on my lips.

And then the beaches, the calm, the sweet emptiness is torn as Vio shuts his eyes, pressing closer to me as if also seeking the warmth. Yes. I will hold Vio, and protect him, hide him and guard him, defend every horridly flawed centimeter of the perfect blonde wedged against my body.

There's this burning sense of belonging. Of reason. A subtle pulse of motivation. All instincts point towards protecting Vio from everything that mirrors myself, protect him from greed, from the knives, the callings for blood that ring day in and day out. Protect him, even though he is as bad as me.

Because that's what you do when you love someone, I suppose.

Slowly, as the warmth seeps to every bone and the air brushes cool against my face, I hold him close and let my eyelids fall, breath slowing, dormant and calm, mind possessed by the thoughts of a calm beach with lavender sands, gentle waves, and a blonde detective smiling softly up at me.

The last thought is that no matter what, we'll be alright.