All right! A two-chapter posting, because I really need to get this fic finished now! It's got to be one of the longest projects I've taken on! XD A resolution of the Saya/Haji arc, yet not quite the resolution readers might've expected (again, there was a reason this story was called 'Unvollendete' XP).

Hope you enjoy! Review, pretty please!;)

~Unvollendete.

At night, she awakes three or four times, as always.

The war has thrown her off her natural sleep-patterns. Between hunts and travel, she has little opportunity for respite. Snatches it, here and there, on trains, in cars. But never more than a few moments. These few decades, she has forgotten how to rest undisturbed.

Forgotten how to sleep without fear of dreaming.

But tonight, Haji senses a deeper turmoil.

Each time, her half-lidded eyes open, concentrating on his face. Curved against his body, warm arms and legs tangled with his, her cheek rests on the same pillow, shower-wet hair coiling everywhere. A rectangle of moonlight spills in through the window, making her glow.

She looks pensive, as if she knows secrets she can never tell him.

Each time, he asks her what's wrong. But she only kisses him, and then her hands are on him, and her mouth, stirring and enticing, drawing him into the act that is an explanation in itself.

There is no shyness to her tonight. Only a voluptuous sweetness that feeds on itself, spinning its witchy spell around him. Starving him for more. The sweet weight of her bearing down on him, surrounding him. Her hot mouth and delicious cries, her long hair stirring across his face with the languid rhythm of her body, her flush spreading beneath his adoring hands and mouth, suffuse him with awe.

She breathes his name, over and over. Gasping it and sobbing it. Haji. Haji. Limbs so smooth at first, then quivering under slippery sweat. Whole body thrumming around him, so that each time he kisses her, he feels that thrum in her swollen lips, tastes it beneath her skin. An elegy in blood.

Until he senses what she cannot tell him.

This isn't a discourse. It is a valedictory.

He loses track of time. The hours melt together; melting him with them under her scorching heat and gaze. Tension pooling from his entire body to collect at his groin, so that when he peaks in that final moment, drawing her in tight as he groans and jerks under her, he feels something cascading from him, beyond the mechanics of orgasm.

She absorbs an irreplaceable part of him. Keeps it for herself.

And he knows he'll extinguish without her.

At the tip of morning, somewhere around six, she stirs again. Their room is bathed in hot sunlight. By its glow, the towels from their earlier shower are scattered across the carpet. The phone—deliberately?—knocked off its cradle. One of Saya's diamond earrings glitters on the rumpled bedspread. The other still dangles at her left ear.

Haji's focus dulls to its sparkle. He can see the flicker of fading dreams behind Saya's eyelids, feel the sinuous thread of her pulse. Checking for vital-signs, although yesterday's disaster has passed. Even so. Their near-expiration at the Met was too close a call. The sort of thing that makes him yearn to transform ifs and maybes into something solid.

He wants to trap each minute with her, even as it slips from his fingers.

Spooned against his chest, Saya tenses. Eyes fluttering open. Her words are a moist oasis against his neck.

"Ha-Haji?"

"I'm here." He lays a hand on her body, under her breasts. She covers it with her own. Tousled and golden in the sunrays—no longer the pale night-apparition. But so real. Sighing, he draws her closer, loving the feathery feel of her fine hair spread across his chest, the peachy softness of her skin. His raspy whisper stirs her hair. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know." She winces. "No. How could I be? I…let her escape."

Diva.

The name unfolds between them like an unseen banner. Its edges smoking and tattered, yet all the more ominous in meaning.

Saya's be-all and end-all.

He can't think of anything to say, which won't sound inept. Diva may have escaped. But a part of him—selfish, traitorous—is almost glad. It lends him another slice of time with Saya. Ultimately futile time. A few stolen moments will not reverse their duty, after all.

But still...

As Saya's Chevalier, he wants Diva dead irrecusably.

But as Haji, he knows one sister's death will be a prelude to the other's.

Burrowing his face in her hair, he breathes her in. "Please do not blame yourself. You are still alive. That is enough."

Especially for me.

Saya says nothing. Only squeezes his hand. But he feels the dark energy of her, vibrating against his skin. Strange. Even though she'd spent so often last night, shaking and crying out on top of him, she still isn't at peace.

Terrible, that he can't comfort her, be her sanctuary, the way she is his. Terrible too, knowing even if he was, it wouldn't make their mission easier.

Nothing is easy.

Beneath his hand, her stomach gurgles. He smiles faintly. "Are you hungry?"

She flushes. "No. W-we should get up."

"Sssh. We have time." Their meeting with Red Shield isn't until eight. And he doesn't want to sever this languorous warmth between them. Circling a thumb over the small of her back, he gathers her closer. She lets off a little sigh, her cheek nestled in the cool curve of his neck. A bubble of silence floats over them; he wants to melt into it with her. They can be safe there.

Yet the moment beckons like an open palm. A chance—at last—to discuss their terrible death-pact. More than that, a chance to confess his own feelings. It would only be a matter of opening his mouth, saying the words. He tries to concentrate, find the right opening. But having wrung himself so completely into her, he is overwhelmingly drowsy. Nothing feels important. He just wants to drift off on her scent, spicy with sweat and sleep.

Then Saya lifts a hand, shyly stroking his jaw. "I–I like this. Waking up with you this way."

"So—so do I." Not that he needs sleep, but... "You know what I mean."

She giggles. But her eyes are sad. "We shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have. I'm supposed to keep both eyes on my duty. But you make me feel so ... you make me wish things were different. I'm sorry. I say it everytime, but it doesn't make this better."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I was perfectly willing. When it comes to you, I always will be."

She colors up, eyes dipping. "I-I know. And I think... I'll miss that most of all."

"What?"

But she's already pulling away, exposing his bare moist flesh to the cool air. In the sunlight, her left earring sparkles—a morning star.

"We should scan the city. Maybe we can still find traces of Diva. Besides. I-I can't stay in bed any longer. If I get sleepy again..."

Haji understands. She is already at the crux of her Long Sleep. The next time she closes her eyes, they may not open until decades after. Despair rises, threatening to swamp him. Slowly, he straightens.

"I'll make you some coffee."

"Thank you." She avoids looking at him as he slips from bed, pulling on his clothes. A half-frown on her face, signaling not anger, but contemplation.

Haji half-hears what she wants to say.

He'd tasted it in all her kisses last night.

Belly full of lead, he quits the room. His bare feet scrape the kitchenette floor as he boils water. He can hear Saya's movements in the bathroom. The shower coming on. On the floor above, vaguely familiar music floats in; some classical melody he only half-recalls.

I have heard it before.

What was it called?

The shrieking kettle usurps the memory. Pouring water into a mug, he muses: How surreal it is, carrying out these quotidian tasks. Especially given last night's carnage. Several stories below, traffic blares; the human world, shaking off sleep to begin a new day.

But the noises seem so alien. Unnatural. He's grown too accustomed to the nighttime.

Saya often says, as Chiropterans, they don't belong in the light. Don't belong among what is normal. And it occurs to him: How long has it been since he's contemplated a normal life with Saya? He's half-forgotten his boyhood daydreams of marrying her. Of having a home and a family.

Has becoming a Chiropteran merely erased the foolish idea? Or is it because he knows, deep down, that their future is hopeless?

Tempting to think of it that way. Except it isn't true.

In reality, Saya has become his world so utterly, he's stopped defining normal except by her terms. Ceased to consider words like home or family, except in her conjunction.

He wishes he could tell her that. Wishes, for the umpteenth time, he could beg her to forget their promise. Swear to take care of her—however he can—if only she lets herself live.

Let her accuse him of emotional coercion. At least the truth will finally be out.

He returns with a steaming cup of coffee. Saya has already bathed and dressed. The bed is still unmade, its blankets tangled and the cover sheet coming undone. She sits by the window, refusing to look there. Last night may as well have been a dream. Except the reek of sex still suffuses the air.

Haji hesitates. "Perhaps you should feed before we search for—"

"No. Thank you."

Both so formal now. She takes the cup from him. Their fingers do not touch. In the sunlight, her skin is pale, flecked by beads of water. Making his own feel greasy. But he can't bear to wash her off yet.

Saya balances the cup on the windowsill. He watches her do that one-two-combination: mouth firming, eyes narrowing. He braces himself. She has an air of dissent.

"I think ..." she says, and stops.

"What?"

A car screeches outside. She glances out the window, tucking a damp lock of hair behind her ear. He feels her holding her breath.

"Saya?"

"I just ... I think when I'm in my Long Sleep, you should return to that woman from Red Shield. Or... or to anyone. I don't want to think of you being alone. It's not right. You've suffered enough—"

Hearing this, Haji realizes, although he's anticipated her renunciation, it still comes as a blow. In a recess of his mind, that old sonnet of Joel's returns to him. Except now he absorbs its deeper subtext.

Car ma joie arrive à bout

Sans votre affection.

'My joy is at its end… Without your compassion…'

"Haji?"

From Saya's tone, he knows he cannot control his face, which is spasming into a grimace. He jerks his head aside. "You should—concentrate on the Mission at the moment, Saya."

"But—" She swallows. "I-I just want to make this easier for you. So much has happened. I know... I know things about you better. I know what you've been going through during my Long Sleeps. How can I not want to help you? If it's really so hard for you to fight, you should have someone to take care of you. You've always taken care of me. Why shouldn't you—"

"Saya. Please. I cannot—"

"That's just it. I don't understand why you can't—"

His jaw tightens. "If you don't understand, then you know nothing about me, Saya."

"What? How can you say that? I've known you longer than anyone—!"

He exhales. "In a matter of semantics."

"Haji—" She softens. "I'm not trying to insult you. If I thought you could carry on this duty alone, I'd never bring this up. But it's not so simple anymore. The idea of you with someone else isn't something I want. But if it's so hard for you—if you're lonely—then you should be with someone."

"You needn't worry about my being lonely, Saya. Your—magnanimity does you credit. But—"

"Don't be sarcastic, Haji. I know what lonely is."

Of course he knows. He'd learnt this back when they were still at the Zoo. Watching Saya mourn her own strangeness, and being unable to help her. Half-knowing, despite their camaraderie, that there was a fundamental difference in their blood.

Was this why she'd sought out Diva? To find someone more like her?

His head is pounding. A moment ago he was swept in righteous anger at her words. But that has dissipated now. Her grief is too pervasive.

"Why bring this up now, Saya?" he asks. "Especially after—"

After last night.

He'd already felt her saying goodbye with her whole body. But hadn't she parsed out what he was saying to her?

I love you. I always have.

Please… do not do this to me.

Saya stares out the window. The sun bathes her weary face. "I'm only bringing this up... because we won't get the chance later. Last night... can't happen again." She faces him, and her eyes are reddening. "These few days, I really don't think I'd have made it, if you hadn't been so patient with me. And I-I don't just mean—what we did in bed. It's all sorts of other things. But that's exactly why it has to stop. We can't do this anymore."

"Saya—" His thoughts are flailing grotesquely, like headless snakes. But despite expecting her dismissal, he did not expect her to admit... "Saya—if anything we did—helped you feel better, why would you want to end it? Your duty is hard enough. If I can make it easier for you, in any way, there is no shame in—"

Her smile is impish. "Are you asking this for my benefit? Or yours?"

"Saya—"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be flippant. Everything you've done has been for my sake. That's what I—appreciate about you. But this war is my responsibility. I can't keep counting on you for more support than I already am. Because..." Her voice shakes. "At this rate, I'll never stop."

Is that wrong?

He doesn't say that. Clearly, in Saya's eyes, it is.

Suddenly, he hears everything she can't tell him. It is like that evening after Joel's funeral, when she'd tried to send him away. For, what she'd believed, was his own good.

A gender-averted Hamlet, torn between vengeful solitude and suicide.

Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
I will speak daggers...but use none.

Unable to help it, he smoothes back her hair. "This was why I agreed to fight in the war, Saya. To help you. If I can do that—in any insignificant way—"

Catching his cool hand, she presses it to her overheated face. "No. Don't you see? It's not—insignificant. It's the opposite. B-But that's why it can't happen again. Otherwise... I'll lose sight of my duty. I-I'll start to wish things could be different, and they can't. You know that." Tears dot her cheeks. She squeezes her eyes shut, as if to smother the accumulating weakness. "I can't choose another life, Haji. I'm not free to . . . not after everything I've done. The fewer choices I have, the better. But—th-that doesn't mean you have to suffer. You should find someone else. Someone who can be good to you—"

"I cannot, Saya. My place is with you."

Her cheeks redden. She cannot meet his eyes. "I just—I can't see how this can be enough for you. How I can be."

"What do you mean?"

She seems to shrink into herself. Tiny and morose. "I-I don't need to spell it out for you. This. Me. I can't be what you want. You're so good to me. Y-You make me feel perfect. Except we both know I'm not. This—desire you have—it's probably situational. Once you're free from me, with women more your type—"

"My type?" A heavy sensation—the inverse of shock—suffuses him.

She swallows hard. "Beautiful women. Sweet ones. Not the ones who make your life miserable. Not—heartless bloodthirsty harpies."

Like her.

He shakes his head. She truly will stop at nothing.

"You are not a harpy, Saya. And even if you were, it would not make any difference. Not to me." Gently, he strokes her cheek. "I could never belong anywhere else. Or with anyone else. Y-You make me happy. Like—"

"Like a wedding-tackle with a sackfull of notches?"

He winces. "There is no reason to be crude."

"Crude? You are calling me crude? Half the curses I didn't catch from David, I caught from you." Her wan laugh fades before blooming. She blushes, lowering her eyes. "I-I'm sorry. If I… do make you happy, then I'm glad. So so glad. It's just—I thought what we did together—would make no difference to my duty. That I could just put it aside later. Except... it's too hard. Maybe it can be casual and cold for other people. Like—it was for you, with that girl. But it's not for me, and I can't—"

His first urge is to correct her. Nothing between him and that poor woman was casual or cold. His own nature had made it impossible. Then he intuits her deeper message. "Is… what we did these few nights, difficult for you? Does it… make you unhappy?"

"No. I-I'm not… I feel safe with you… it's like I can…" Trailing off, she drops her head to his chest. A strange noise bubbles from her—not a sob but a laugh. "God. You're so hopeless, Haji. Hopeless and wonderful, and you don't even realize it. But everyone else can see it."

"I have no interest in everyone else."

Just you.

"That's... what I thought you'd say." She raises her tearstained face. Smiles: dark and wistful. "Haji. If you really mean—to stay on with me, please promise me something?"

He's not even aware of tensing. "…Yes?"

"Promise you'll always stay as you are? No matter—how much things change. Or how much I do. Don't stop being the person you are now. And—and maybe, when this is all over—I mean, if things were ever different I could—ohgod. What am I saying? Things can't be different. But still, I can wish that—" She breaks off on blushing stammers.

The black cloud of her despair momentarily lifts. He sees a brief flash of the old Saya.

Amazing that parts of her still remain, undisturbed. The knowledge suffuses him with wild hope.

Kneeling abruptly, he snatches her close. Breathes her in, deep effortful gulps, his face pressed in her hair, her neck. Her arms come tight around him, and he squeezes her in even harder. They vibrate together, caught up in mutual outpouring emotion.

This close, he can feel her disquieting stillness. Her fading pulse. No way she will stay awake beyond today. Her hibernation is too close. Despair chokes him. He feels like a child being torn from his mother.

Her departure will leave him newly-orphaned and desolate.

"Saya." His voice is tight. "Don't go."

He doesn't simply mean into her Long Sleep.

She swallows, her head tucked under his chin. "I'm sorry, Haji. Maybe—if things were different I could make you promises. But I can't. I-I wish I had the choice to. But my duty has to come first. I started this war. And I have to finish it. Anything else—can't interfere with that. It'd be too much. I'm sorry."

He wants to tell her that she shouldn't be sorry. It does not matter if they cannot be lovers; he will still be her confidante, as long as she swears not to hold herself apart. He wants not to lose this closeness they've re-established. Wants her to stay as she was a few moments ago, when her darkness lifted, and she remembered herself as he first loved her.

But what he wants has nothing to do with what must be.

"It does not matter, Saya. I will continue to fight by your side. Not out of duty, but because I love you." The words are out before he can stop them. He wouldn't have the courage to say them at all. But his eyes are on the top of Saya's glossy head, her face hidden from view. "You are my reason to go on. Whatever else, that will not change."

The finality, the awfulness, of the words, suffuses the air. His heart judders; terrified yet-not at the confession. It has come out of nowhere, leaving him blindsided. At her mercy.

Except she must not believe him. She is so still.

He whispers. "Saya...?"

Then Saya's hand moves. Her fingers, curled into his shirt, go limp. A sigh escapes her. And, in a dreamlike slow-motion, her arm slips away. Haji hears a soft click-click. Looking down, he sees her two diamond earrings. They have fallen from her palm, onto the carpet.

She was holding them all this time.

He watches them glitter—bright as tears. And on the floor above, that same music resonates. He recognizes the tune now. Schubert's Unvollendete.

The thought barely registers before he understands something worse.

Oh God.

His opportunity to confess has been usurped. Just like Saya—by the maw of Time. He can already feel her growing cold.

No…

There is a scream sounding in his head. His vision swims so everything fades, even Saya herself, and all he can feel is this excruciating sensation rising inside, everything in him churning as if in sickness. Then the scream isn't in his head anymore; it is a physical outrush racing through him, echoing in an inhuman snarl through the room, leaving him mute and disoriented in its wake.

When he can see again, he is still holding her tightly, shaking all over.

Taking a breath, he reins himself in. Loosens his hold on her. Sunlight makes Saya's face glow. A little smile curves her lips. Her expression is so peaceful—almost ethereal. But she is still as death.

For the next few decades, she may as well be.

A terrible heaviness settles over Haji. He feels, all at once, the full weight of his long years. But this body, eternal, ageless, will never show them. Never erode or change.

Nor will his vow to Saya.

Even if I receive nothing, I will fight the war for you.

Because a love, a pure love, is its own reward. Duty has nothing to do with it. The knowledge imbues him; not an epiphany, but something much older. A feeling he has always carried.

Her body is cool and pliant. But he draws away gently, as if afraid of waking her. Presses a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Have a pleasant sleep, Saya.

At the phone, he breaks the news. Waits in silence for Red Shield's medics to arrive. As they bundle Saya onto a stretcher, he remains where he is. His lethargy is not indifference. Merely a grief that cannot be expressed through speech or motion. But he does not expect these people to understand.

How could they?

Outside, traffic continues to roar. The faint music—the Unvollendete—has faded. But Haji can still hear it in his head. He wants to bind it to his memory. Go on listening to it forever.

Unvollendete. Unfinished.

It is fitting.

Opening the door, the medics wheel Saya out. One of them calls to Haji: "You're expected at Mr. Goldschmidt's office. For the arrangements for your trip to Vietnam. Better get moving."

Haji is expressionless. "I understand."

The medic shuts the door. Haji hears him wheel Saya away. He knows the men will take her to one of Red Shield's facilities. Put her in a special container, readying it for travel. Soon, the news will spread through the organization.

Otonashi Saya has gone into hibernation.

Hollowed out, he stands by the window. Watches the city. Ten minutes later, he cannot feel Saya's presence in the building anymore.

All that remains is her katana, the fallen earrings, and her scent on the rumpled bedsheets.

Reminders—not of the girl—but of duty.

The phone rings.

Haji answers mechanically. "Yes."

"What the fuck, Haji! Who said you could screen your goddamn calls? I've been trying to reach you guys all morning!"

He exhales. "I apologize, David. We were indisposed."

"Indisposed? My ass. At it like rabbits, more like. God have mercy on whoever has to change your bed-sheets. Now listen. We've caught wind of a laboratory—sponsored by Goldsmith holdings. The place is loaded with Chiropterans. I mean stocked, locked and loaded."

"Should that be our concern? I thought Red Shields understanding with America was finished."

"It was. But 'new talks' opened up last night. The US has given our guys permission to contain the Chiropterans. Provided we bring back live samples. But so far, the boys're just wasting ammo. We need you and Saya to lend a hand. Pronto."

"All right." He pauses. "Saya cannot be there."

"What do you mean? Is she injured?"

"No."

"Then what?" An uneasy chuckle. "Tell me you didn't really screw her dead? 'Cause it's one thing to joke about it. But it's creepy and fucked-up to—"

"She could not fight if she wanted to, David."

"What?" A bemused silence. Then the pieces fall into place. "Oh." David's voice sobers. "…Oh. Oh shit." He fumbles for words. "I—I'm fucking sorry. I didn't think she was—"

"Give me your location. My meeting with Monsieur Goldschmidt may wait."

"…Are—are you sure? Look. It might be better to—"

"Your location, David." He has miseries to vent. Bones to snap and blood to spill. If it worked for Saya, it will work for him.

At least, for a little while.

"Okay. Okay. Cool your jets." David sounds slightly uneasy. "Make a note. We're at the…"

Haji shelves away the address. But his eyes are on the space by the window. Saya's mug still rests on the sill. In his mind, he can almost see her beside it. Her small sweet face in the frame of tangled hair. The eyes regarding him with such pensive intensity. Mystic, fierce, and so beautiful. The vision is so powerful he cannot move.

Saya…

You will be able to choose a better future someday.

I promise.

"—Hey, Haji? You get all that?"

He takes a moment to remember where he is. "…Yes. I did."

"Great. Just get here fast. And make sure you don't—" Haji hears a crash on David's end. There is a series of roars, and deafening gunfire. "–ah. For Christ's sake! ...Gotta go. Duty calls."

With a click, he disconnects.

Exhaling, Haji sets the phone in its cradle. Stares again at the window, at the place Saya would be. But his every sense tells him she is not there. She will not be, for a long time.

Moments later, cello-case and katana in tow, he has exited the building.

This war will not rule our lives forever, Saya.

I will spend every moment ensuring it.

Until then…

'I hold my duty as I hold my soul…'

The last line is taken from Shakespeare's "Hamlet". Hell, I've used a lot of Hamlet quotations in this fic, in addition to several plot-points (Niklas' whole father/stepfather backstory, Diva's Ophelia-like persona, Saya's vacillation between revenge and suicide, etc. Anyone who can point out more than three will get fresh-baked fudge cookies :D). The Blood+ manga parodies Hamlet considerably, which I always found funny, because Saya could, in many ways, be a female version of our emo, indecisive Prince Hamlet. "To crystallize, or not to crystallize. That is the question..." XP (Well, that, or Hamlet could be Haji. A personified trope of Can't Spit it Out...)

Anyhow, hope you guys enjoyed! The final chapter, like most of my final chapters, is a combo of Bittersweet Ending and general WTF-ness XD Read and see!

Oh, and review pretty please!;)