Drake had claimed that he didn't care if Darla died in the upcoming battle with the Perdido Beach kids, and yet the next day at the crack of dawn he found himself taking the girl to a semi-secluded spot in the grounds where they weren't likely to be disturbed. He hadn't taken her there to argue or to kiss or anything like that, no, because he had brought guns. It felt much more serious.

Darla, despite her initial reaction of jumping to the conclusion that Drake simply planned to shoot her, had followed him outside and had taken the gun he had handed to her. For one split second, she realised that she could turn and shoot him, take him by surprise and finish off a boy who would one day finish so many- perhaps in the future she would look back and wish with all her heart that she'd put a bullet between his gleaming grey eyes then and there, but she couldn't see what was to come, couldn't know, and so she didn't. Besides, as it turned out, Drake hadn't planned to hurt Darla at all; no, he wanted to teach her.

"So that gun you've got there, it's a Glock, I found it in some chick's bedside table," Drake explained casually, patting the barrel of the little gun he had handed Darla. It couldn't have been much more than six or seven inches long, a compact weapon which she could only imagine was suited to be stashed in a handbag or something 'just in case'. It wasn't has heavy as she had feared it would be and she found herself handling it with caution but also surprising ease.

"You load it like this," Drake continued, reaching over to take the gun from her hands and demonstrating. It was slightly more difficult with his new arm, as he hadn't yet quite gotten the hang of it, but he still loaded and unloaded the gun much quicker than he probably should have been able to. After all, even though they seemed and acted older, both of them were only teenagers. "Now you try," He added, holding the gun out for her to take.

Darla gingerly took the gun and began to imitate his actions with slightly shaking hands. The first time she dropped the magazine and Drake made a strange noise which was partially a laugh, and partially an irritated grunt. After a couple of tries Darla was loading and unloading the gun fairly swiftly, though privately she feared that in the heat of the moment she'd forget everything she had practised or fumble and shake again and end up spilling bullets all over the floor.

"Good, that's good, babe. Now watch and learn." Drake instructed, curling his finger almost lovingly around the trigger of his own larger gun, turning towards a target which he had pinned crudely to a tree, and raising it to fire.

"I still don't get why you've gotta take the dogs. I hate coyotes," Darla insisted, wrinkling her nose. When she had finally hit the target enough times to satisfy Drake, the two had parted ways for a while but had eventually met again back in his old bedroom. She noted that he didn't seem to have a roommate, or at least everything of the other kid's had been cleared out. That last thought made her wonder if perhaps he had shared with Caine, because Caine seemed like the type of person who would get rid of all of his belongings to prevent somebody looking through them. Maybe she was just overthinking it.

The two of them, Drake and Darla, were on his bed. Drake was sitting in a slumped sort of way and leaning against the headboard while Darla was lying down properly, head in his lap, and he was messing around with her curly hair. They'd been sat like that for a while, just talking- it wasn't their usual style but there was something about Drake's presence that was ironically comforting. Her lips curled into a smirk- at least it couldn't get any worse, right? Surely there was nobody more twisted than Drake, and she was surviving him just fine. Besides, she thought, who the hell would mess with her if they knew the odd relationship she had with Drake?

"It's strategy, babe. That's Soren's favourite word: strategy this, strategy that. Sam'll give up if he thinks the kids are in danger," Drake shrugged, glancing down at her and frowning a bit at her smirk, although deciding not to comment on it. He matched her smirk with one of his own, giving a short and dark chuckle. "Feeling guilty again? Don't worry, babe, you didn't inspire this particular idea."

Darla narrowed her eyes up at the ceiling as a familiar pang of guilt hit her like a punch to the stomach. He was, of course, referring to the way that the uncooperative freaks had suffered the torment of having their hands encased in concrete, something that Darla herself had accidentally suggested. Sarcasm, that's what it had been, and yet Drake's twisted mind had made it into a reality.

"Funny." Came her blunt reply. Still, at least there was the consolation that the kids had gotten away. When Drake had shown up and paraded through with Sam and his friends, everything seemed to be going smoothly, but before they knew it the little freak kid had vanished the blocks, and one thing had led to another, and then she had been listening to Drake scream in agony. The strangled cries had awoken something deep inside her, something that she wasn't even sure she would ever feel: she had been worried for him, upset that there was nothing she could do to help. He was even more frightening than before with his new appendage, but at least he seemed satisfied.

For now.

"Yes, I am pretty funny, aren't I? Wittier than Soren," Drake mused, half joking, and half wanting her to jump in and shower him with praise. He didn't pine for Darla's affections the way that Caine did with Diana, but lately he had started to notice than when she flashed him one of her secret smiles (the ones that were partially smirks and reserved just for him), or ruffled his hair the way that would get anyone else's wrist snapped, he had felt almost pleased.

"Wittier than Caine," Darla confirmed, then her lips curled into a devilish smirk as she looked up at him. Before she spoke again she sat up, and leant in a little so that it almost seemed as though she was going to kiss him, then whispered something. "But not wittier than Diana. And certainly not wittier than me."

"You're lucky that I'm busy thinking about the Beach kids," Drake admitted, regarding her with slightly narrowed eyes. It was his eyes that often frightened Darla, because when she gazed into them she couldn't see anything but that familiar steely glint. His gaze never softened, never betrayed many of his emotions. Perhaps that was why seeing him cry had shocked her so much. Slowly, his new arm inched towards her and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't tear her gaze away from it. It was horrifying, otherworldly, and yet fascinating in a scary sort of way- she had examined it, when he had allowed her to, but no matter how hard she thought about it she just couldn't justify it.

When it came into contact with her arm and began to snake up it, she tensed up, she couldn't help it. Would she ever get used to it, she wondered? There was no time to relax her tensed muscles because Drake slid the whip around her throat, moving painfully slowly, seeming to relish in the way that her eyes followed his every move, poised, fearful. No matter how tough she pretended to be he knew that he still intimidated her, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"Just remember who's in charge here, yeah? It's not you, baby, and it's not Ladris or Soren or even fucking Sam Temple. It's me." He had leant in too, mirroring what she had done. A smirk passed his lips and he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before releasing her and patting her curly hair. "Better rest up, doll. We're gonna be busy soon."

Okay guys, I'm back! Popped by and read a few reviews, and decided to continue. I can't believe that people read this, and your reviews make my day and inspire me to keep going with the story!

We're coming up to the battle soon which begs the question: which side is Darla going to end up with in the end? If you have ideas out them in the reviews!

To the guest who submitted the idea about Caine, Drake & Darla recently- I love your evil genius. ;)